


The Three Guineveres

by CyberQueens



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Doppelganger, F/M, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2018-07-18 10:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 84,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7310686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyberQueens/pseuds/CyberQueens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It probably was too much to expect, that a royal wedding in Camelot could ever go on without trouble, doppelgangers, ghosts and an attempted assassination. And only about half of it was Merlin’s fault this time. Written for the <a href="http://roundtablemanagers.tumblr.com">rountablemanagers'</a> Round Table Minutes June 2016 prompt ‘Celebration’.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> * "Written for the ‘celebration’ prompt" and all that’s celebratory about it so far is that it happens at around wedding go-time.
> 
> ** The timeline for this is obviously ‘Lancelot Du Lac’ though it actually features Lancelot and resembles the events of that episode…in no way.
> 
> *** Can you tell I watch The Flash?

He found her in his chambers, tinkering by the vanity.

 _Their chambers,_ he corrected himself, and smiled at the thought alone. Well – they soon would be anyway.

The castle was full of life, servants and courtiers, knights and nobles bustling about – even now, setting decorations and readying thrones, and feasts and speeches –, preparing for the moment they would finally celebrate the coming of their new queen.

She still insisted – stubbornly, if he said so himself – to remain living in her home until the very day they were married. Then again, he would have expected nothing less. But with the ceremony a mere three days away, preparations to move her belongings to the palace were underway. Today, evidently, was the day for all manner of colorful little bottles.

“What are they?” he asked as he stepped closer, and startled her so badly she nearly dropped the one she held.

She put her free hand to her chest with a breathless chuckle.

He tried not to laugh. “Sorry.”

Guinevere gave him a look, more amused than anything, slipping her hand in his with a smile. He took a moment to marvel at the sight of her, then brought his attention back to the vials.

“So, what are they?” he asked again.

She gave a delicate shrug. “Just…ladies’ things.”

“Ah, let me guess,” he ventured, taking the particular ladies’ thing she had now, filled to the brim by some sort of sparkling green liquid, and giving it a little shake. “This is for your hair.”

“No.”

“Mm, no? Alright. For your skin?”

“Mm-mm.”

He frowned. “Your eyes?”

She shook her head.

He gave her an appraising look. “You don’t any warts in places I should know about, do you?”

“No!” she denied with a gasp, wrestling the bottle from his hand and putting it back on the vanity with a decisive thud – all the while seemingly unimpressed by his attempts to suppress his laughter.

As much as he tried, he didn’t quite manage to sound serious as he said, “Forgive me.”

She gave a soft sigh, though there was a little smile at the corner of her mouth. “Why do you want to know about these things anyway?”

“Well,” he said, bringing her closer with a press of his hand to her back, “I’ll be spending a lot of time around them in the future…”

Her eyes lit up now, teeth sinking into her lip.

“So I thought I’d learn what they were,” he went on, “you know, so I don’t…accidentally poison myself.”

“How would you poison yourself with these?”

He shrugged. “Stranger things have happened.”

She tilted her head just so, like she couldn’t quite disagree with that statement. Then, she asked, “Stranger than a king marrying a serving girl?”

He brought her closer still, with both hands at her waist; her arms came around his shoulders. “Nothing strange about that,” he said, catching a glimpse of her bright smile before his eyes fluttered shut.

He leaned in for a kiss.

And all hell broke loose next to them.

Bright lights, and loud noises, and Guinevere screaming – and even as he shielded her, pushed her behind him, all Arthur could think of was the best way to get to his sword.

But when it settled, and the lights faded, all he could do was stand frozen in the spot.

For a moment, he thought he’d gone mad – one too many blows to the head, one too many responsibilities to carry out, something Merlin had put in his food – or maybe it was just him, so anxious to finally be married that his mind had conjured an image of Guinevere in the finest of red silks, with furs draped about her shoulders and a heavy cloak falling to her feet, and little jewels catching the light in her hair.

And then maybe, next to the dream, his anxiety had conjured a nightmare, of Guinevere in dark furs caked with blood, sword strapped to her back and a dagger at her hip, with a scar and a marking that marred her face.

At his side, Guinevere – _his_ Guinevere, beautiful and unmarked and dressed in purple – gasped and grabbed his arm. And that, reason pierced his thoughts, probably meant he wasn’t just seeing things.

And for the first time in his life, Arthur found something he could not blame on Merlin.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**One day earlier**

Merlin hummed to himself, wiping down Gaius’s beakers. In a stroke of good will, he even decided to polish them.

Birds were singing, the sun was shining, Arthur was happy, Agravaine was miserable, probably, and Gwen was going to be queen.

Finally. Years and years and back-and-forths, and now, at long last, he would have the pleasure of watching her get crowned by the end of the week.

 _Ah,_ he thought with satisfaction. _Destiny._

When the door opened to reveal Gwen herself, Merlin beamed.

“Gwen!”

“Merlin,” she greeted kindly, her blue skirts swishing around her ankles.

“Do you need something?” he asked, eagerly shucking his current duties. Gaius would understand.

With a grin, he added, “What might I do for the future queen of Camelot?”

In return, she offered a tremulous smile. “I, uh, I came for a sleeping draught.”

“Of course,” he said, going to the shelves. “Too excited to sleep?” he teased as he rummaged about.

“Something like that,” she allowed.

He paused, studying her more carefully. On second look, she did seem a bit…off. “Gwen,” he prompted, “are you alright?”

She gave him a firm nod, confident smile firmly in place. It took all of five seconds for it to be replaced by pure, sheer panic.

“Oh, Merlin, what am I doing?” she despaired. “I can’t be queen! What was I thinking?”

_Ah._

Well, he had already talked Arthur out of _his_ panic about this marriage. It was only a matter of time before Gwen would succumb to it too, he supposed.

He abandoned the shelves and the vials, instead walking over to place both hands on her shoulders.

“Gwen,” he said, clear and firm, “you’ll make a wonderful queen.”

She gulped.

“Everyone thinks so,” he assured, and returned the frantic shaking of her head with a very enthusiastic nodding of his own.

She heaved a sigh. “Merlin…”

“ _Arthur_ thinks so.”

It was amazing, really. How just the mention of his name calmed her. Like a charm.

A little smile broke forth, too. “Really?”

Well, now she was just fishing for compliments.

“Really,” he said. “You know he wouldn’t ask you to marry him if he didn’t think you are the queen Camelot deserves. In fact,” he added brightly, “I happen to know for a fact that he said you’d proved yourself more than capable these past few months.”

Gwen’s eyes softened. “He did?”

Merlin nodded. “Yeah.”

She smiled wider, beautiful and bright.

But then it dwindled again.

“I fear he thinks _too_ highly of me,” she said quietly. “And that he’ll be disappointed when I don’t live up to it. Along with the _whole_ of Camelot.”

“Who’s to say you’ll disappoint anyone?”

She sighed again.

Now, he did, too. “You’re the smartest, wisest person I know, Gwen,” he said. “If anyone can do it, it’s you. Besides,” he added, “being queen isn’t about where you come from, it’s about what you believe in. Like justice, and fairness, and…things like that.”

She gave him a look. “That may be so, but…there _are_ things to know. And I’m just now beginning to see how much – did you know it’s the queen’s job to look over grain reports and present their written summary to the king?”

He hadn’t, actually. “Isn’t that Leon’s job?”

“Only because Camelot hasn’t _had_ a queen in twenty-five years.”

Catrina the Troll excluded, he presumed. “Alright, so…you’ll write a lot of dull summaries, what’s the problem?”

Fear filled her eyes again. “I’ve never written anything like that,” she said quietly.

He shrugged. “I’m sure you learn these things.”

She gave a tight huff, and wrenched her head away.

Merlin frowned. “Gwen,” he asked – slowly, carefully, “you do _want_ to be queen, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” she said, like it was all she’d ever dreamed of, and he breathed a little easier. “But…”

She turned away from him now, pacing around the quarters. “I think I’m capable of it, that I would even be a _good_ queen – ”

“A _great_ one.”

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Perhaps even that,” she allowed. “Especially when Arthur – ” She shook her head a little. “But then I remember that I was never taught _how_ to do all these things, and…I’m not so sure that, maybe…maybe another wouldn’t be better suited for it.”

It broke his heart to hear her say it. “Did you tell Arthur about this?”

“I can’t tell Arthur about this.”

“No, of course not, why would you talk to your future _husband_ about something like this?” he deadpanned. “Makes no sense.”

“It’s not that important.”

“It is if it keeps you up at night.”

“It doesn’t – ” She stopped herself, shaking her head. “I’m sure it’s just all this anticipation that’s getting to me,” she dismissed the next moment.

Merlin withheld a sigh. “Right.”

She pinned him with a look. “Not a word of this to Arthur.”

“Aye aye, m’lady,” he muttered.

She grew contrite from one blink to the next. “I didn’t mean it like – ”

“I know,” he assured softly. Knowing when a battle was lost, he relented, and finally circled back to fetch her what she’d come for.

“Gaius’s newest concoction,” he told her as he transferred the vial into her care. “It could knock out a horse.”

She looked a little alarmed.

“As long as you only take two drops, you’ll be fine,” he assured.

Finally, she smiled again. “Thank you, Merlin,” she said, with all her usual sweetness and care.

He returned it as they bid their farewells, and frowned at the door when it closed after her.

There was no doubt in his mind that there was no woman – in the kingdom, the land, the world – who belonged on that throne more than Guinevere. Arthur would certainly be the first to agree.

Gwen would probably agree, too, if she could just see she had no reason to worry.

She was more than capable…

…she just needed the chance to _show_ it.

Merlin grinned.

Just a little arranging of circumstance, to give her the opportunity to prove herself and restore her confidence.

And _he_ just so happened to have the perfect set of skills for the job.

A little magic never hurt anyone.

With renewed zeal, he skipped the steps to the upper level two at a time, turning over the old books. Gaius had told him once, that manipulating reality was complicated and unexplored business, the writing and spells that did exist having been largely destroyed in the Great Purge.

Looking through them now, Merlin could see that he had been entirely right. Aside from some faded account of what such magic entailed, he found only one actual spell.

He pursed his lips at it.

It wouldn’t quite _do_ the job.

Still, if the spell was lacking, then he would just…improve upon it. Invent a new one.

How hard could it be?

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Gwen had never thought that a room with so many people in it could be so quiet.

Even Gaius, always so quick to explain and adapt, stood as silent as a mute in the face of – _this._

She had seen sorcery (and sorcery, it had to be) bring many strange things to Camelot – witches, and goblins, and griffins, and trolls – but _this_ – this was too bizarre to comprehend.

To see her own face stare back at her, not once but twice – what sort of magic did this?

Finally, it was one of the – – women, who spoke. The one dressed all in red, with jewels in her hair. She had to a noble, a lady of the highest standing. _A queen._

And if she spoke, it was only to comment upon the same thing she had mentioned before. “You have no experience in dealing with other worlds, I take it?”

Ah, yes. Other worlds. That was what she had said first, too, before Arthur had yelled for the guards to fetch Gaius and Merlin – that they were from different _worlds._ As if that…made sense.

The other one, with the blades and the marking, had not uttered a single word. Gwen had never thought she could be so frightened of her own reflection either, twisted and strange as it might be.

Beneath her touch, Arthur gave a little jolt. “M – er, my – lady – um, Your – High-Highness?” he stammered.

She bowed her head. “Guenevere.”

“Of course,” he said, as if in a daze – then shook his head, paused, sighed, and swiveled frantically to the side. “Gaius?”

It seemed Gaius had at last recovered from his surprise. “It is true, my lord,” he said, carefully, “that some have spoken of other worlds, that…exist in parallel to ours. Such theories, of course, are obscure, and the sorcery that would access them – ” why his eyes slipped to Merlin as he said it, Gwen had no idea – “even more so.”

“My world is no less real than this one,” the first – the one – the – _Guenevere,_ spoke again. “Or any other in the universe. The worlds themselves, are numberless. And in each, we are all different versions of ourselves. The same but…” She smiled sweetly. “Different.”

“You’re…very knowledgeable,” Arthur commented, and sounded – more than a little dazed.

Gwen’s eyes snapped to him. Was he actually – _charmed?_ By her – her – her doppelganger?

The same doppelganger offered a wider smile still. “We mean you no harm,” she assured.

Expectedly, in Gwen’s opinion, all eyes went to her companion.

She raised her eyebrows at all of them, arms crossed over her chest. “I don’t.”

Again, Gwen was struck by how completely, utterly bizarre it was to hear her own voice, from the mouths of those who looked so like her, and yet were so… _un_ like her.

 _Same but different,_ she supposed.

Another thing she _had_ supposed, was that Arthur would have more sense than to be taken by these women – or even just one of them. And yet, his posture had grown more relaxed, his voice coloring with curiosity as he asked, “So, I don’t understand, how is there… _two_ of you?”

“We’re not from the same world.”

“Oh, you’re…from two different…” He took a deep breath. “Right. That’s not going to be…confusing at all. Three…Guineveres.”

There, he seemed to remember that _she_ did still stand at his side, meeting her eyes with concern. But not, as she might have expected from the _king,_ with any apparent concern for safety. Only like he feared she might be overwhelmed and on the brink of panicking.

Which she was.

But honestly, how was he so easily swayed by them? Was it just because they bore _her_ likeness?

It was the frightening one that broke her wonderings.

“My name is Gwenhwyfar.”

Oh, variety. Lovely.

“Can we call you Gwen?” Merlin asked.

“No.”

“Alright, then.”

It brought on another bout of silence.

Eventually, Arthur seemed to remember what he ought to be doing – which was to _interrogate_ them – and asked, “Why are you here?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Guenevere said. “It wasn’t our doing. At least, I assume…” She turned to – _Gwenhwyfar,_ who only shook her head. Seemingly satisfied, she continued. “It took powerful magic to bring us here, that much is certain – ” Gwen’s stomach turned – “but we did not wield it, and we do not have the power to _undo_ it.”

Gwen was sure she _would_ panic now.

Merlin was biting his nails.

Arthur frowned.

“You don’t seem very concerned.”

She smiled again. “I will be missed,” she said. “It won’t be long before my husband comes to bring me back. And yes,” she added at Arthur’s look, “he does look a lot like you.”

Arthur turned to her again, grinning. The best Gwen could offer in return was a grimace.

He patted her arm in comfort – and again, she despaired that he wasn’t more concerned about this.

“And I’m sure,” Guenevere now turned to Gwenhwyfar, “that he will be happy to return you to your world as well.”

The look she received in return could have frozen over fire.

“Won’t someone come for you as well?” Merlin piped in once more – even he, Gwen realized, was more curious than wary.

Her last hope for common sense was Gaius, and she turned to him – finding long-needed solace in the fact that he looked about as distrusting as she felt.

“No one in my world wields enough power to do this,” Gwenhwyfar was saying now, a tightness to her voice. “And none of them would want to.”

That last bit, if Gwen wasn’t mistaken, was a jab against Guenevere.

The latter bristled. “Well, it is wise, to only want to attempt what you _can_ do,” she said, and the false sweetness that filled her words as she added, “But I’m sure one day they’ll amass enough power between them to cause a _ripple_ at the gates,” could have cut through stone.

Gwenhwyfar uncrossed her arms, fingers twitching like she might just reach for her dagger.

Arthur bit his lip. “You two have met before, I take it?”

“Yes,” they said as one – though it was hard to tell which one was less pleased about it.

“How, exactly?” he asked.

Guenevere took a deep breath, raising her chin. “I am no stranger to different worlds,” she said. “My husband makes something of a habit of travelling between them.”

Arthur stood a little straighter, muscles tightening under her touch, and Gwen rejoiced. Finally – caution!

“Habit?” he echoed.

For the first time, Guenevere faltered. Her eyes went over each of them, studying. Merlin first, head to toe, her eyes narrowing – then Gaius, with the same treatment, and finally – her.

Their eyes met, and Gwen was sure that no matter what she learned or saw next, for however long she lived, would ever be as strange as this moment.

When she spoke again, it was once more to Arthur, but Guenevere’s words were weighed more carefully. “You understand that all of this requires magic, my lord?”

Arthur squared his shoulders. “Yes,” he said tightly.

“Is that a problem?”

He was quiet for a time, only to, in the end, merely cite the law, “Magic is not allowed in Camelot.”

“I see.” Guenevere nodded – and why she slipped a look in Merlin’s direction as she did, Gwen couldn’t say. “But please understand,” she said, “that it is not so in my world. Or in Gwenhwyfar’s.” They looked to each other again, and on this one solitary subject, seemed to be in solidarity. “We did not ask to be here, and we mean you no harm. All we ask is that you mean us no harm in return.”

And just like that, all hope for caution was lost.

“Of course not, my lady,” Arthur was quick to assure.

There was a flare of – _something_ in her chest, though Gwen could not name it. All she knew was that it unsettled her.

Guenevere smiled, bowing her head. “Thank you.”

“And I assure you,” she added, “that if my husband has this habit, it is only because he believes that new things, new wisdom, can be gathered from each world. He works with those who have magic, but he does not have it himself – and neither do I. If you will allow this one exception to your laws, we can put all of this behind us quickly and painlessly.”

Arthur nodded, accepting this.

Gwenhwyfar rolled her eyes, the marking on her face moving with it. Gwen looked over to her, letting her gaze settle this time.

On the left side of her face, black ink drew a path from her temple to the middle of her cheek, a thick and long line. Gwen thought it looked a lot like a snake.

And on the other, a scar, white and faded, marked a half-moon around her eye.

Gwen’s eyes slipped lower, to the vest she wore over her shirt, lined with fur marred by dried, blackened blood – lower still, to the large dagger at her hip, and the flecks of mud that dotted her tights, here and there, all the way down to the tips of her boots.

When she looked up again, Gwenhwyfar was watching her. She hastily averted her gaze.

“How quickly are we talking about, exactly?” Arthur’s voice commanded her attention.

“They shan’t be long,” Guenevere assured. “A day, at most.”

“A _whole_ day?” Gwen let out, and all eyes immediately went to her.

It was probably the first time she had spoken since they had appeared, she realized – and it was to embarrass herself.

She swallowed. “I mean,” she backtracked, “I – I just – it just doesn’t seem all that quick, is all.” She promptly looked to her feet after that.

After a moment, she felt Arthur’s hand on hers; he took it, to place it on his arm through the crook of his elbow, and give it a comforting squeeze. When she looked up to meet his eyes, he gave her the smallest of nods, as if to reassure her everything would be alright.

She let herself believe it, and clung to him for dear life.

“However long it takes,” Guenevere was speaking again, “the only thing we can do is wait.”

“Um, of course,” Arthur agreed. “You, uh, you may stay here.” He gestured to the rest of his chambers, and Gwen fought the urge to just – _pinch_ some sense into him.

“Thank you,” Guenevere said. With that, she undid the clasp on the cloak she wore – and stood waiting expectantly.

After a false start and a very pointed look from Arthur, Merlin flew over to her side. “Allow me, my, uh, lady.”

She nodded politely as he took the cloak from her shoulders, to fully reveal the finest of red gowns, but did not thank him.

Merlin draped it over the back of one chair, pulling another for her to sit, asking if he may offer her something to drink, and Gwen was overcome by the oddest sense that she could see into the future.

Was this what it would be like? For her and Merlin? Deference rather than friendship, servitude rather than company? She hadn’t even thought about it. Merlin was such a constant, such a friend, that she had never imagined that it would – that it _could_ even change.

It wouldn’t be like this, would it?

The clank of the goblet against the table brought her out of her thoughts.

Merlin turned to Gwenhwyfar. “Would you like me to take your, uh – ” He gestured vaguely up and down her chest. “I could clean it, um…take out the…er, blood…from it? If – if you want.”

She gave him an odd sort of look, a softness to it that Gwen hadn’t thought her capable of. “You don’t have to trouble yourself.”

Merlin grinned in that bright way of his, shrugging, and Gwen found herself longing for things she hadn’t even lost yet. “It’s no trouble.”

“Well, alright, then,” Gwenhwyfar agreed, unstrapping the sword from her back; the golden hilt of it caught the light from the window before she propped it against a cupboard. She undid the ties and the clasps of her vest next, until the clothing was in Merlin’s hands.

Without it, she seemed a little smaller, but it opened the view to the play of muscles beneath her shirt, well-defined and strong in ways Gwen could never hope of achieving herself.

She glanced to Arthur. He had the most transfixed look on his face, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

There was that flare in her chest again.

With the bundle safely in Merlin’s arms, Arthur proposed, “While you wait, perhaps you’d like something to pass the time? Some entertainment?”

“I’m good,” Gwenhwyfar said, and promptly turned to stand by the window.

Guenevere, however, had requests. “I shall do as my husband and take the opportunity to learn,” she declared. “Perhaps some writings for me to read?”

“Yes, certainly,” Arthur was eager to please. “Gaius?”

Gaius smoothly obliged. “What would you care for, my lady?”

“Hm, some history of this world,” she mused. “Perhaps a history of the great families of the land?”

“I shall do my best to find something to your tastes,” Gaius assured, then gestured for Merlin to come along.

Gwen almost begged to take her with them.

But alas, the door closed behind the two, and she was left to endure.


	2. Chapter 2

He barely had a foot through the door before Gaius whirled on him.

“What did you do, Merlin?”

Standing in the doorway, arms full of bloodied fur – that, strangely, somehow also smelt of berries –, Merlin huffed, indignant. “What makes you think this is my fault?”

Gaius only raised an eyebrow.

_Oh, well._ “Alright, fine, it was me.”

“Why on Earth would you do this?”

Heaving a great sigh, Merlin shouldered the door shut. “It’s not exactly what I was _trying_ to do,” he said, moving across the room to find something to soak the furs in; Gaius’s eyes followed him the entire way.

Pulling out basins and cleaning supplies, he added, “I was trying to help Gwen. She’s been…I think she’s a little overwhelmed by the thought of becoming queen.”

“And how was _this_ going to help her?”

Merlin pressed his lips together. “Did I mention it’s not what I was trying to do?”

Gaius sighed and looked to the heavens.

“She’s worried about whether she’s capable enough to be queen, so I thought I’d just…give her the chance to show that she was,” Merlin laid out his defense – which, as he heard it now, didn’t sound as solid anymore. “You know, just…arrange circumstances so she’d have the chance to prove herself.”

“Arrange circumstances?” Gaius echoed, not in the least impressed.

“Yeah, you know, just…manipulate reality…a little bit.”

“Well, congratulations,” Gaius deadpanned, “you’ve succeeded.”

Merlin chewed his on his tongue but, in the end, couldn’t help himself. “It’s pretty impressive, isn’t it?”

“No, Merlin, it’s not,” Gaius said, unyielding. Perhaps some praise _was_ too much to hope for.

 “You’ve brought not one, but two otherworldly creatures into _this_ world,” Gaius went on, “and who knows what the consequences will be.” Exasperated, he asked, “How did you even do this?”

“I may have…created a spell,” Merlin muttered.

“Merlin!”

“I’m sorry! But I – I mean, there’s none that exist that would serve my purposes so I…took the one that did and…added some things.”

Gaius stood as an immovable pillar of disappointment. “Do you even know the first thing about creating spells?”

“Not really…”

“And yet you thought you ought to trifle with reality without knowing the first about it? For fun?”

“To _help,_ ” Merlin corrected – which, in his opinion, was a very important distinction. “And I didn’t _trifle_ with anything, I just – added some words. About…showing Gwen what she could be, and…holding a mirror to what’s inside her – or something like that.” He bit his lip. “It’s hard to translate the old tongue.”

“Creating new magic is notoriously difficult, Merlin,” Gaius lectured. “Those who dabble in it spend years training and learning before attempting. You have to know _how_ to ask for things. _Specifically._ ”

 Merlin pursed his lips. “Hmm, yes, I can see how what I did wasn’t…like that.”

“Oh, _can_ you?”

“Gaius – ” He gave up. “I’ll make it right.”

“You will do no such thing,” Gaius said. When Merlin made to protest, he added, “You’ve done enough harm as it is. Leave it to those from the other worlds to come and reclaim theirs.”

“But – ”

“Do not attempt anything,” Gaius warned. “Let those who _know_ what they’re doing right this wrong.”

“I was just trying to help Gwen,” Merlin muttered.

“Yes, I’m sure this is _very_ helpful to her.”

Merlin deflated, letting the furs drop into the basin with a forlorn splash. “Yeah, alright,” he said. “I won’t do anything else.”

“Good,” Gaius concluded, seemingly satisfied. “Now, while you wash that, I must go find some light reading for – ” there was a slight break in his words – “the queen.”

Merlin couldn’t quite help his smile. “She does look great as queen, doesn’t she?”

Gaius’s expression didn’t change. “It’s not Gwen, Merlin.”

“Yeah, but – it will be,” Merlin said. “In a few days, _our_ Gwen will look just like that, too.”

Though he tried to hide it, Gaius smiled, too, even as he headed for the door.  

“Wash your furs, Merlin.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Perhaps some water would help her.

Or a gallon of wine.

It wouldn’t be that hard to acquire, would it? Surely, Gwaine could procure it for her on short notice.

In the meantime, she settled for a goblet of water to try and soothe her nerves.

Arthur walked up to her, sympathy in his eyes. “Are you alright?” he asked. “You haven’t said much.”

“I’m fine,” she declared, putting on her bravest face, and poured herself another goblet. Maybe, if she _imagined_ it was wine, it would have the same effect.

With a soft cluck of his tongue, Arthur took a step closer, placing his hands on her shoulders. “I really can’t imagine how strange this must be for you.”

She looked over her shoulder – to Guenevere, sitting at the table, back straight as an arrow, patiently waiting for her reading, and Gwenhwyfar, still standing by the window; Gwen didn’t think she had moved at all.

_Strange_ was definitely one way to describe what she was feeling. _Worried,_ was another.

“Is it wise to keep them here?” she asked, keeping her voice quiet.

“Well, I can’t very well let them wander about the palace,” Arthur said. “The fewer people know about this, the better.”

That was a very good point. Still – “They could be dangerous.”

“Oh, come on,” he dismissed. “They’re harmless.”

She gave him a pointed look, then subtly nodded to the window.

His eyes followed. “Alright, _she_ might not be entirely harmless,” he conceded. But then, curiosity lit his eyes again. “I wonder how she came to be a warrior…”

Gwen tried not to sound impatient as she commented, “Is that really what’s important here?”

He looked back to her, blinking.

 “Arthur, they were brought here by _sorcery_ ,” she kept her voice lower still, almost a whisper.

Some of the levity left him. “I know.”

“We don’t know by whom, or for what purpose,” she said. “You _must_ be wary of them.”

He chewed on his lip. “Be that as it may, I don’t believe this was their doing. Or that they have magic.”

“You take them on their word?”

“Well, I – I don’t really have a reason not to.”

She held back a sigh. “We’ve no idea if they’re telling the truth, and even if they are – if it was not magic from their worlds that brought them here, does not logic dictate that it was someone in _ours_ that wielded it?”

That seemed to finally get to him. “You’re right,” he said, gently rubbing her arms. “But if that is true, then I still cannot guess their intentions.”

“All the more reason,” Gwen argued, “to remain cautious.”

“Well, what should I do?” he asked. “Put them in the dungeons? Because I fear _that_ will certainly reveal their presence here. Besides, if I do it – ” he glanced toward the table – “I will probably start some kind of war with…another me from another world. And _she_ – ” he shifted his gaze to the window – “might just kill me herself.”

All valid concerns, she agreed. But – “They don’t have to _know_ they’re prisoners.”

Slowly, he dragged his eyes back to hers. He had the oddest look on his face. “Don’t you think that’s a bit…”

She raised her eyebrows.

“…harsh?”

She did sigh this time. “You’ve grown fond of them already, haven’t you?”

His mouth opened and closed without a sound for a while, eyes skipping helplessly about the room. “Well, they – they look like you, I can’t help it.”

Despite herself, Gwen bit her lip, fighting a smile. “That’s the problem, I think,” she remarked gently. At his frown, she did truly smile, and added, “You can’t tell me you wouldn’t be warier if it they bore someone else’s likeness.”

“Yeah,” he admitted.

“But you must remember, that just because they look like me, doesn’t mean they _are_ me,” she cautioned. “You must treat them as any other strangers who would come here under such circumstances.”

He was nodding along, a smile at the corner of his mouth. “I fear that if I start interrogating them, as I would any other stranger, they will know something is amiss,” he said softly.

She shrugged. “The best way to interrogate someone without their knowledge is to let them think you’re friends.”

His smile widened. “Did I ever tell you – ” he took the goblet from her hands and put it away, so he could take her in his arms; her hands went to his shoulders – “that you are very wise?”

She pretended to think about it. “Well…it doesn’t hurt to hear it again.”

He hummed softly, affection in his eyes, and lowered his head for a kiss.

Gwen leaned away – then withheld a laugh at the sight of him, frozen inches from her, eyes half-closed and lips puckered.

They turned down in a little frown as he straightened. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he muttered, still staring at her mouth.

With perfect timing to steer them both back to matters at hand, the doors opened to reveal Gaius, a heavy tome in his arms.

Before she could move more than a step out of Arthur’s hold to assist, Gwenhwyfar was already across the room, arms out.

“Here, let me,” she said.

Gwen couldn’t say who among them was more surprised.

Then again – she had been kind to Merlin, too.

“Thank you,” Gaius recovered graciously, transferring the load.

Gwenhwyfar didn’t seem to mind the book’s weight in the slightest, though its heaviness did become apparent when she let it drop atop the table with a resounding thud.

“Enjoy,” she said, and once again left them all behind for the apparent pleasures of the window.

Gwen met Arthur’s eyes, and bit back a laugh.

“I hope you will find it to your satisfaction, my lady,” Gaius was saying.

“I’m sure I will,” she assured. “Thank you.”

Gaius bowed, and, at Arthur’s nod, left them once more.

As Guenevere began turning the pages, Gwen gave Arthur a light nudge. He seemed to understand her meaning perfectly, taking hold of her hand to steer them to the table.

She allowed herself to be seated into a chair with his assistance, folding her hands in her lap as he took his own seat, opposite Guenevere.

She bestowed one of her polite smiles upon them, then returned to her reading. Gwen glanced at the page, expecting to look upon the Pendragon name. _The House of Leodogran,_ it read instead.

“So,” Arthur began, “what great family are _you_ from?”

Was it really so clear to him, that she could have never been born into anything other than a noble family?

And would he prefer, Gwen wondered, now that he knew this version of her, if she had been, too?

No – no, that was a ridiculous thought.

“None that you would know, I’m afraid,” Guenevere was saying, though her fingers lingered on the page.

But Arthur was not deterred. “I _could._ ”

Guenevere looked up, an ambiguous sort of half-smile on her lips. She turned the page, and a new family name appeared. The House of Leodogran must not have lasted long in history.

“My father,” Guenevere spoke, “was King Thomas of Cameliard. You will not find him in this book.”

“Perhaps that is because here, he was a blacksmith,” Gwen said, in an impulsive stroke of pride, and found herself looking her doppelganger in the eyes again. She couldn’t glean her thoughts, but perhaps she did detect a trace of sympathy. And perhaps only because they had both spoken of him as if he were gone from the world.

“And there is no such place as Cameliard here,” Arthur commented.

Guenevere looked to him again. “I know, in some worlds, they call it Deorham.”

Arthur nodded. “That one does exist,” he allowed, then cocked his head. “Is Camelot ever known by any other name?”

“Not that my husband has ever said.”

By the window, Gwenhwyfar made a noise of disapproval.

If her manner were less contained, Guenevere probably would have rolled her eyes.

“Perhaps, just this once, you could keep your thoughts about my husband’s expeditions to yourself,” she said instead, turning her head to the side just so.

And evidently, Gwenhwyfar could not. “It’s unnatural. It upsets the balance of things.”

“No harm has ever been done.”

“ _Yet._ ”

Guenevere turned back to them. “Forgive her. She abhors the idea of such travels.”

“Don’t speak for me.”

With a soft sigh, Guenevere declared, “As you wish,” and proceeded to ignore her.

Gwen couldn’t quite wrap her mind around the sight of watching herself argue with…herself.

Arthur was staring at the both of them.

“What makes it unnatural?” he asked, in what was probably more recklessness than boldness, and Gwen saw the exact moment the same thought crossed Guenevere’s mind.

But he had nevertheless succeeded in getting Gwenhwyfar’s attention. “The worlds are separate for a reason,” she said, facing them. “They exist in balance to each other. To breach that defies the way of things.”

“No one in your world has ever studied such things closely enough that you would know that,” Guenevere argued, not once glancing around.

“I know the laws of nature,” Gwenhwyfar fired back.

Now, Guenevere did turn around in her chair. “Has it ever occurred to you, that if you would just open your mind to this, you could actually gain the knowledge you need to _win_ that war you’re fighting?”

“I do not _need_ to abuse magic to win my battles.”

Guenevere huffed. “You call it abuse of power, when all it is, is an opportunity to _learn._ ”

“Right, because that’s what your king’s expeditions are,” Gwenhwyfar mocked. “A noble pursuit of knowledge.”

“It is, and it proves very useful.” Guenevere insisted, though Gwenhwyfar scoffed.

“You deny it, but tell me,” Guenevere challenged, “who is that sits on the throne of Camelot? My husband or _your_ prince?”

Gwenhwyfar’s mouth pressed into a thin line.

_What prince?_

But by the proud raise of her chin, Guenevere seemed to consider the argument won, and returned to her reading once more, satisfied.

Arthur glanced between the two of them, mouth opening and closing as if he might just ask something, then thinking the better of it – once, twice, and then he really did say it. “If you can ask me to extend you the courtesy of accepting that your laws about magic are different to mine, can you two not extend the same courtesy to each other on this?”

All eyes went to him.

“The laws of _men_ regarding magic may change,” Gwenhwyfar said, “but the laws _of_ magic itself do not.”

“I thought it was the laws of nature?”

Why was he doing this?

“They’re one and the same,” Gwenhwyfar proclaimed, even taking a step closer in her passion.

Arthur frowned, and made to speak again. Gwen quickly laid a gentle hand on his arm to stay his words, giving him a pointed look when he turned to meet her eyes. _This is no way to make friends._

He seemed to have caught her meaning, nodding ever-so-slightly.

“Forgive me,” he turned back to Gwenhwyfar, “I spoke without thinking.”

It became obvious he had done something else without thinking when he glanced past her to the window, and his eyes widened. “Uh, I must go.”

Gwen froze. “What?”

He presented his formal excuses – which only Guenevere acknowledged – and pulled her with him as he stood and walked to the doors.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, “but there’s a meeting with the council I must attend. At midday. Which is now. I’d forgotten about it.”

With her heart in her throat, Gwen pleaded, “You can’t leave me alone with them.”

He bit his lip, then took on an air of confidence. “You’ll be fine.”

“Arthur…”

“If we want to maintain their presence here a secret, I must keep up appearances,” he reasoned. “You’ll do fine. Just, uh – ” he scratched his head – “think of it as entertaining guests.”

“You can’t be serious.”

He put his hands on her shoulders. “Trust me, just think of them as…a pair of visiting ladies that you’ve got to keep busy for a while, and…all will be well.”

She gulped.

“The guards are just outside if you need them. Besides,” he added, “I’ve never known anyone better at – ” he gave her a loaded look – “making friends, than you.”

That was a blatant lie. And yet, she found herself agreeing. “Alright.”

“Alright,” he echoed, pressing a small kiss to her cheek before heading out.

She was on her own.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He did not hear a word that was said.

Leon was competent in matters of state, meticulous in his work, if not always succinct in his phrasing, but the man could not sustain an audience if his life depended on it. Arthur truly, wholeheartedly, longed for the day it would finally be Guinevere that relayed these reports to him instead.

As was often the case at times like these, his thoughts turned to her instead. Except now there were three of her.

It brought back memories of stories he’d heard as a boy, from some old days, about the king who had to marry and bed three versions of the same woman to earn the right to rule – and then he tried very hard not to think about it.

But what a thing it was, to imagine countless worlds that existed – _in parallel,_ as Gaius had called it, or _in balance_ as Gwenhwyfar had. How did that even work? The image he had, akin to a juggler’s balls flying about every which way, was probably not right.

Did time flow the same way? Were they all created at the same moment? Could new ones be created, springing into existence like a new ball being added to the jig?

Guenevere had said such things were studied in her world, explored, like some manner of science. Gaius would probably adore to hear of such things. Arthur was far more taken by the woman herself. If she had come here just days later, he probably would not be able to tell her apart from his Guinevere.

Gwenhwyfar, on the other hand…

He was tirelessly hung up on how she had come to be, where she had gotten her scar and her marking, his curiosity giving him no rest. The strangeness of seeing such oddities on Guinevere’s face paled in comparison to seeing such build and brawn on her body. And, almost as a child, he was most curious about whether she could best him in a fight.

Surely not?

But…there was a way to find out. And surely, there was no better way to make friends with a warrior than a friendly match?

Arthur smiled to himself.

Leon, poor thing, took it as encouragement and went on for another ten minutes.

The moment he was done, Arthur dismissed the council – idly pleased when his uncle seemed in a good mood and not like he was fighting the urge to talk him out of his choice of queen –, and held Leon back.

He retold the whole thing, from the bright flashes to the parallel worlds, to the party of three now sequestered in his chambers. At first, Leon had laughed.

But by the end of it…

“So, you’re saying that there are, at this very moment…three different…Gwens, locked in your chambers…sire?”

“Yes.”

Leon nodded, taking it in stride. “What would you have me do?”

“Well, you must tell no one but a few, this must remain as closely guarded a secret as possible,” Arthur ordered. “Just the knights – ”

“Percival, Gwaine and Elyan?”

“Exactly, and see to it that you arrange for all of us to go for an…outing.”

“An outing, my lord?”

“Yes, somewhere outside the city – and, uh, find a way to smuggle Guenevere and Gwenhwyfar out of here without anyone noticing. Oh, and bring weapons.” He gave it some more thought. “Merlin will pack a picnic.”

Leon was staring at him blankly. “Certainly.”

Arthur grinned.

“Uh, may I ask, sire,” Leon said, “why are we doing this?”

Arthur clapped him on the shoulder. “We’re making friends.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Gwen turned to the others, a lump in her throat.

Pushing down her panic, she squared her shoulders, and blew out a breath.

So, then. She was the future queen of Camelot. She could do this.

With mostly false bravery, she made her way to the window. “I’m sorry about what Arthur said.”

Gwenhwyfar spared her a cursory glance. “It’s alright.”

“He meant no offense.”

“I’m sure.”

Gwen watched her for a moment, staring out onto the training grounds below like she had the world on her mind. Perhaps some talk about the subject she was so passionate about would engage her.

“What did you mean,” Gwen asked, “when you said the laws of nature and…magic, were the same?”

Now, Gwenhwyfar met her gaze fully. It was different, to look into her eyes, than it had been to look into Guenevere’s. There was more fire there. Something more honest, too.

“They are,” she said.

Gwen shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“Magic is the very fabric of the world,” Gwenhwyfar said, a soft sigh leaving her lips, “of all the worlds. It’s been here since long before the time of men, and it will be here long after they are gone. Nature itself – ” she smiled, ever-so-faintly – “is brimming with it. It is the life of every leaf shaking in the wind, every drop of water in a stream, every…crack of thunder, even.” She shrugged. “For those who can feel it…it is as a song heard through all of nature.”

Such beauty she described, such melody, in a force so dark twisted. Gwen, of course, could feel no such thing with magic, in the leaves or the streams, or the rolling thunder. But…

She felt it with Arthur, in every stone and brick of Camelot. Every crack in the wall she touched, every statue, every shield, seemed to leave him on her fingertips, almost as if she could hold his hand by taking up a sword, or kiss his lips by tasting a cup of wine – so much so, she could be convinced that the love for his people and his land had made him the very soul of Camelot. Sometimes, when he was away, she swore she knew he was still alive, wherever he was, just by the way his presence lingered around her.

Reason, perhaps, dictated that it was just her heart playing tricks.

Still…she supposed she could understand the principle of it all.

“ _You_ can feel it?” she asked. “Even now?”

“Even now.” Gwenhwyfar smiled again. “I do not have magic, but…my people can sense it.”

_Her people…_ Gwen looked her over once more; the snake on her face seemed almost alive, moving in the sunlight. “You’re a druid,” she realized.

Gwenhwyfar nodded.

Gwen cocked her head. “I thought the druids were a peaceful people?”

“What makes you think we’re not?”

Honestly, Gwen thought her appearance alone spoke for itself. “Well, there’s the matter of that…war you’re fighting,” she said. “And you’re clearly a warrior, so…”

For a while, nothing could be heard but the rustling of pages by the table.

Eventually, Gwenhwyfar rolled her shoulders – and all of her muscles moved with it. “It’s true we’ve not _been_ at peace for many years,” she allowed. “But someday.”

“You think so?”

She shrugged. “All things must end eventually. This war will, too.”

“In your lifetime?”

“I hope so.” She went quiet after that, turning her eyes to the fields again.

Gwen watched her expression change, almost as a mask washing away, to the sounds of the knights’ grunts and the clashing of their swords.

“That man,” she asked suddenly, “who is he?”

Thrown by the change of topic, Gwen followed her line of sight, and frowned. “That’s Elyan…he’s my brother.”

“Thought it might be,” Gwenhwyfar said softly. “He looks a lot like Mother.”

_Oh._

“Everyone’s always said so,” Gwen offered kindly.

Gwenhwyfar nodded. “I lost my brother a long time ago,” she spoke, a thickness to her voice. “I suppose – ” she swallowed – “it’s not the worst thing to see what he would’ve become.”

“I’m sorry,” Gwen told her, “that you did not have the chance in your world.”

“Yeah,” she whispered.

Gwen blinked to dispel her tears. “Well, he’s a knight here,” she said, turning to Guenevere – and found her watching. “And in your world?”

“A king,” she obliged.

All of Gwen’s breath left her in a rush. “A _king?_ ”

“Well, we are both the children of one,” Guenevere said – out of the corner of her eye, Gwen caught Gwenhwyfar dabbing a finger under hers. “Elyan inherited Father’s throne upon his death.”

Gwen gave a startled chuckle. “I really can’t imagine Father as a king,” she commented. “Or Elyan.”

“But you can imagine yourself as queen?”

Gwen froze.

“I saw the band on your finger,” Guenevere said further, as if to explain her query – as if that was the part that needed explaining.

“I think it’s the more the question itself she’s got a problem with,” Gwenhwyfar remarked pointedly.

Guenevere’s eyes widened. “Oh…forgive me, I meant no offense. I was just curious.”

She wasn’t the mirror to her future, this woman, Gwen realized. If there was a mirror there, it was only to everything she was not. Born noble, destined for a crown from the moment she had come into this world, with a flawless manner and a flawless heritage. The perfect queen.

A false reassurance for Her Majesty was at the tip of her tongue, but the words wouldn’t pass her lips.

It rose in her like a flame, the urge to fight it. Gwenhwyfar, with all her temper and her righteousness, was as a bright shadow at her side, stoking the flame, the desire to just stand tall and proclaim that she was not unfit to be queen just because she was a serving girl.

In the end, what she said was, “Yes, I know how curious you are for new things. But I don’t see what you could learn from me.”

Strangely or not, Guenevere smiled – just a small twitch of her lips, like she couldn’t quite help herself.

Gwen cleared her throat. “But I hope your curiosity was satisfied by your reading?”

“Quite,” Guenevere assured after a beat, glancing to the pages again. “The history of this land is quite different to that of mine.”

Excellent, a subject she could use to pass the time and take the focus off herself. “How so?” Gwen asked, moving to retake her seat at the table; with some coaxing and a gentle _‘please’_ , Gwenhwyfar joined them.

Guenevere regaled them with stories, of the houses and the kingdoms, those that had fallen here but not there, that stood tall there but wilted to dust here. She told them steadily, like a queen speaking to her court, not that much heart in it, and while Gwenhwyfar was probably bored out of her mind listening to it, Gwen soon found herself clinging to every word, as she would to stories as a child. That the House of Leodogran would come from the Old Kings, their round table entrusted in their care to be passed down to descendants, was stranger and more fascinating than any bedtime story that she had ever been told.

She imagined her father as king, an impossible image, and laughed when Guenevere recalled the time it was discovered that Elyan’s head was too small for their father’s crown, and a debate had ensued over whether magic should be used to shrink the crown or enlarge his head. She never said which one had been done.

Most curiously, in Gwen’s mind, she never mentioned the Pendragon name either.

A riveting tale about a princess, a cursed necklace and a cow was just about reaching its climax when Merlin came through the doors, inquiring about eating preferences.

All raised their eyebrows at him.

Standing straight with his hands behind his back, and in his most neutral tone, Merlin said, “The king wants to go for a picnic.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“May I ask what you were thinking?”

Arthur bit his lip, seeking to placate her anxiety with a hand on her shoulder. “You were the one said we should make them feel welcome.”

If she loved him less, Arthur surmised, her words probably would have been much more biting as she said, “Yes, make them _feel_ like it, not actually do it.”

“The best way to control what they might do is to keep them occupied. Besides, you’ve spent some time with them now, so tell me,” he prompted, “do you still think they mean harm?”

Guinevere sighed softly. “I don’t believe so,” she admitted.

Arthur tried not to be too smug about the fact that he had been _right._ He cocked his head, curious. “What do you think of them?”

She gave it some thought. “Gwenhwyfar – well, she’s got a temper – ” that, she certainly did – “but she’s honest. She’s a druid, too – ” _huh_ – “and, uh, _Guenevere_ is…of noble birth in every way.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Is that your way of saying arrogant?”

“Perhaps,” she allowed.

Arthur stifled a laugh, looking to the woman in question. “She’s not so bad.”

When he turned back to Guinevere, there was a little furrow in her brow. He frowned, too. “What?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head. “But honesty, Arthur…a _picnic?_ ”

“Well, that’s…one part of it.”

“What’s the other part?”

He pursed his lips. “Swordplay?”

She closed her eyes. “You want to see if you can best Gwenhwyfar is a fight, don’t you?”

_Yes._ “No… I mean – ” he gave her a cocky grin – “there’s really no question about it, of course I can best her in a fight.”

Guinevere didn’t look all that impressed. “You’re sure she’ll agree to it?”

“Trust me,” he said with confidence, “if she’s a warrior, she won’t turn it down. Besides, a friendly fight is the best way to endear yourself to a swords – ” he frowned – “woman.”

If she were less anxious about all of this, she might have laughed.

He rubbed her arms. “I’ll prove it. Watch.”

With a final squeeze to her shoulder, he left her to join Gwenhwyfar, where she stood belting her vest – how Merlin had washed and dried that so quickly, Arthur had no clue –, and strapping the sword to her back again.

“So,” he said, “Merlin tells me you haven’t requested a thing for yourself.”

Gwenhwyfar glanced to him, showing little other than indifference. And why did it bother him that she showed him no favor?

“Would you grant me a feast if I asked?”

“Certainly.”

She raised an eyebrow.

He’d thought about enticing her with the possibility of sampling foods from other worlds, like Guenevere had shown interest in – but then, that would probably have had the exact opposite effect here.

“I have very little interest in _picnics,_ ” Gwenhwyfar said.

He tried not to smirk. “Mm, yes, I thought so. Which is why I’ve arranged for some of my men to come with us. Perhaps a friendly match with the knights of Camelot might be more to your liking?”

Now, her eyes did spark with interest. Arthur almost turned to grin triumphantly at Guinevere.

Gwenhwyfar’s mouth curved like she might just smile, but then she looked torn.

“I know you must dislike the thought of partaking in anything from this world,” Arthur said, “but the way I see it, you had no hand in coming here. It wasn’t your fault that the, uh, balance of the worlds was upset. Anything you might do to enjoy yourself here is a well-deserved way to ease your troubles.”

She shook her head. “People like you always have a way to justify doing whatever they want.”

He frowned. “People like me?”

“Royals.”

_Ah._ “Don’t you serve a prince?”

She laughed now. “Oh, he is nothing like you.”

Arthur affected an air of nonchalance. “Didn’t think he was,” he said, and pretended no part of him was disappointed.

Oddly, it seemed to have finally gained him a smidge of favor. “What if someone sees us?” Gwenhwyfar asked, her voice gentler. “I can’t imagine you want people knowing we’re here.”

“Oh, well, uh…Sir Leon’s got a plan. No one will see you. Although – ” an image of them _being_ seen flashed through his head – “I do hate to imagine what the people would think if they saw me with all three of you.”

Gwenhwyfar gave him an odd sort of look, a glint in her eyes. It took a moment to realize it was mischief. “That you were not satisfied with just one Guinevere, so you decided to marry three instead?”

“Yes! I mean, _no!_ Of course – of course not.” He sighed, shaking his head. “There’s just…an old story.”

Gwenhwyfar laughed again, more freely this time. She sounded just like his Guinevere.

“About the king who married three emissaries of the Goddess on Earth to have the right to rule?”

Stunned, Arthur nodded.

“Yes, we have such stories, too.”

Delicately, like approaching a sleeping bear, Arthur said, “I’m not sure they were goddesses.”

“Well, what were they?”

“Um…” He scratched his head. “I’m not sure… It’s been years since I’ve heard the story. I think, uh, there were three of the same woman, and somehow, to be the rightful king of the land, he had to find, then marry, and uh…bed, all three of them.”

Gwenhwyfar scoffed.

_Favor lost, then._

“Makes it sound like nothing more than some knight’s quest,” she derided.

Well, when she put it that way… “What…is it like, then?”

“It’s not about _conquest,_ ” she said. There was that temper again. “It’s about _earning_ the right to rule. The favor and the blessing of the Triple Goddess. The king couldn’t just take these women, he had to prove his worth to them.”

That did sound like the better story. “How?” Arthur asked quietly.

She didn’t answer right away, evidently deciding if she should oblige him or not. He hoped the beseeching look he gave her would help.

It probably wasn’t what swayed her in the end, but she did clear her throat, as if readying for a long tale. When she did tell it, her voice was soft, gentle, like that of a storyteller sitting around a campfire.

“In the old days,” she began, “when the lands were steeped in chaos and war, a king who could put an end to it was sought, in the hope that he would bring peace. To find him among all the contenders, the Goddess created three emissaries, all the same, to represent her will on Earth.

“The rightful king,” she said, a playfulness to her voice, “would have to prove himself to all three. To the Mother, he had to show his courage, his strength – his love for the land. To the Maiden – ” she smiled softly – “that he was true and pure of heart.

“To the Crone,” she intoned, and Arthur found himself smiling, too, “that he did not fear death, or the horrors of the other world – that was wise enough to know when to stop them and when to _unleash_ them. And if he succeeded,” she concluded, smiling wider still, “he would marry them to seal their union, and be granted the divine right to rule.”

She had such a beautiful way of telling it. Befitting, he thought, of such a beautiful story.

“Later words retold,” she went on, “that in reality, it was only ever one woman. Who, by divine right, represented the land – its people. If the king could prove all these things to her – her, above all others – and win _her_ heart, then…” Softer than before, she said, “He was the true king.”

Why was it, that he got the impression that later words still, had to retell yet a different tale? “You seem to know these stories very well,” he commented.

For the first time, she seemed to falter, and averted her gaze. Muttering, so he could barely hear her, she said, “My parents named me after the women in them.”

Arthur stifled a snort.

She looked back to him sharply. “My people believe that no name is given without meaning.” She sighed. “I was born in troubled times. Perhaps, in naming me so…they believed I could have a hand in changing that.”

He nodded. “And how are the times now?”

“Still troubled,” she said, shrugging. “But I have hope.”

_Huh._ Named after a woman who bestowed the divine right to rule, fighting a war with hope to – _wait…_

“That prince of yours,” he prompted, biting his lip, “might he have something to do with it?”

“Um – ” she swallowed – “well, yes, I…I believe he is meant to be king, that he will, uh, bring us peace.”

“Aha, _you_ believe it?”

And now she was flustered.

God, this was too delightful.

He couldn’t quite keep himself from asking, “So, will you be sealing your union or…?”

“Wh – I, uh, no,” she stammered, “we’re not – it’s not like that, I’m not – we’re not getting – I mean – ” she blew out a breath, clearing her throat. “So – friendly match?”

Arthur took pity on her, nodding; she scurried away, sword and dagger and all.

He finally turned to Guinevere again, grinning widely. She smiled in return.

It wasn’t long before commotion by the doors drew his attention. The knights had come at last – and before them all was Guenevere, smiling sweetly as Leon, Gwaine and Percival tripped over themselves and each other to bow before her and kiss her hand, in a chorus of _‘my lady’s_ and _‘Your Highness’s._

Elyan stood away from them, frozen in the spot, with the most disturbed look on his face.

Arthur couldn’t say he blamed him.

Gwenhwyfar came up to him, confidence evidently restored, asking, “Are these the men you’d have me fight?”

The knights jumped back as one, screaming.

_Honestly._

“Yes,” Arthur said grandly. “You can fight this lot.”


	3. Chapter 3

Gwenhwyfar stood above the men, lazily flicking her sword in victory.

Sprawled upon the ground, Gwaine and Leon looked to her then each other, awe and confusion on their faces. Percival had had the same look on his when she, so smaller than him, had managed to knock him into the dirt like a great falling tree.

She’d seemed to enjoy herself most with Elyan, though, sparring like it was not victory she sought but time spent with him, a smile on her face. Every now and again, a comment such as, _‘your footwork needs improvement’_ or, _‘you swing your sword too widely when you strike’_ would pass her lips.

Elyan had walked away from it probably better off than the rest of them, turning to her with wide eyes, and Gwen had had to suppress a smile.

She bit back another one now, too, as Gwaine commented, “You fight better than the king.”

Naturally, Arthur scoffed. He hadn’t faced her yet, but he had watched the whole thing with rapt interest, both a curious spectator and a master studying his opponent’s craft.

“All this means,” he was saying now, “is that _you_ don’t fight as well as you think.”

As Gwaine and Leon picked themselves off the ground, Gwenhwyfar challenged, “Would you care to prove _your_ superior skill?”

Arthur, of course, accepted eagerly, stepping up to the middle of the clearing – though not before he threw a glance and a grin over his shoulder, to make sure she was watching.

Gwen smiled in return.

“My Arthur was the same when he met her.”

She turned to Guenevere, sitting at her side on the blankets, taking little bites of the fruit that Merlin had set out for them, on a plate adorned with flowers.

“Endlessly fascinated by the sight of her,” Guenevere went on, “the fact alone that she could swing a sword. Not to mention that she’s led armies and fought in battles.”

“Was the feeling mutual?” Gwen asked.

“Not in the slightest.”

Gwen laughed under her breath, and turned her attention back to the match. They both fought well, obviously, and that was about the extent to which she could comment on it. The finer points of their footwork, strikes, or defenses escaped her; it was the sword Gwenhwyfar wielded – beautiful, golden, shining in the sunlight – that she could appreciate.

When Gwenhwyfar had first drawn it from its scabbard, Merlin had dropped everything he was holding.

Gwen had asked to hold it herself, drawn to it as any blacksmith’s daughter would be. It was unlike any other she had ever seen, its balance and workmanship beyond anything she could imagine, marked with symbols she could not understand.

“What are they?” she had asked.

“Druidic runes,” Gwenhwyfar had said. “On one side, it says _take me up,_ and on the other – ” Gwen had turned it over in her hands – “ _cast me away._ ”

“What does it mean?”

“I believe, like with most things…its true meaning will be revealed only in hindsight.”

Gwen had nodded her understanding, smiling at the small, curious wisdom of it. “Who made this for you?”

“No one. It was forged in a dragon’s breath.”

She had quickly relinquished the blade after that.

Now it struck down upon Arthur’s in a glorious clash, and Gwen truly began to wonder if he would win this one. He seemed to be enjoying himself still, though.

She wished she could truly say the same for herself. Guenevere still unnerved her.

“I fear I might have indeed offended you earlier.”

Gwen turned to her again. “You didn’t,” she dismissed. “It’s alright.”

“You must believe,” Guenevere still added, “that if I asked, it was never because I thought your birth makes you unfit to be queen. If I ever did believe such things – ” she smiled faintly – “my husband has surely proved me wrong by now.”

Goblet halfway up to her mouth, Gwen froze. “Is he not King Uther’s son?”

Guenevere’s lips pressed together for a moment, at the mention of Uther’s name. “He is, but he never grew up at court,” she said. “He was raised by two peasants.”

Gwen choked on air, loudly. (Arthur spun to her at the sound of it, and Gwenhwyfar knocked him round the head.) “I find that hard to believe,” she said.

“Nevertheless, it is true.” Guenevere took a sip of her drink. “He never knew who his father was until Uther died. He might not even have known then, had Morgana wished to keep her right to the throne.”

Morgana Pendragon, forsaking the throne of Camelot? That could surely not be. “She didn’t want it for herself?”

Guenevere shook her head. “No. Morgana is, by all accounts, far more interested in her studies of magic than the throne of Camelot,” she said, though her phrasing made Gwen wonder. As did the memory of the Morgana she knew. “She sent for him, upon Uther’s death. And though the legitimacy of Arthur’s birth is complicated – ” Gwen wondered about those words, too – “he was entitled to the crown. And so he became king.”

“It must have been a terrible burden,” Gwen commented, “to assume the throne when he was never prepared for it.”

“It was.” Guenevere gave a quiet sigh. “The first night we were married, he told me he had no idea what he was doing, and only ever acted as his council asked.”

“Oh. Well…at least he’s honest.”

“A king must take great care _whom_ he’s honest with,” Guenevere countered.

Gwen nodded. “But surely his queen can be trusted,” she said softly.

Guenevere smiled, perhaps more sincerely than before. “I would never betray him.”

“You love him.” Gwen smiled, too.

“Yes,” Guenevere said. “Whatever anyone may have thought, he’s proved to be a great king. With a good heart.” She took on a pensive look. “I never knew how important it was to rule with one until I met him.”

Smiling still, Gwen turned to Arthur – her Arthur, ducking under Gwenhwyfar’s sword. He caught her eye and flashed her a quick grin, before ducking again.

“And Elyan?” Gwen asked. “Is he a good king?”

“The kingdom has not fallen yet.”

Gwen chuckled, then narrowed her eyes, studying Guenevere. There was something, in the way that she said it… “Is that thanks to you?”

It took a moment to receive an answer. “I am the council of two kings,” Guenevere allowed, and left it at that.

Such responsibility ought to keep a woman occupied.

And thinking of home.

“It must have been difficult,” Gwen said quietly, “to leave your home behind. I can’t even imagine.” She looked around the clearing and the trees, to the palace standing above them in the distance. “It would break my heart, to ever have to leave Camelot.” Shaking her head, she added, “I am sad to even leave my home in the lower town.”

Guenevere was silent for a while. “It is not easy,” she eventually agreed. “But every queen knows sacrifice.”

“I prefer not to think of it as sacrifice,” Gwen said, shrugging. “It’s only change.”

Guenevere let out a small, surprised chuckle. “That’s a brave way of thinking,” she said. “Simple and straightforward. I am learning from you after all.”

She smiled again, and Gwen did the same in return.

Perhaps she and Guenevere had more in common than she’d thought.

But then she raised her cup in the air, barely once looking at Merlin as he ran to refill it. So perhaps not.

He came around to refill hers as well, and Gwen stiffened, her fingers almost itching to take the jug from his hands and do it herself. Merlin might have actually sensed it, too, because he poured at the oddest angle, from over her shoulder, where she couldn’t possibly reach around to grab it.

She thanked him kindly, then watched him go, fighting the tightness in her chest. _It’s only change._

Everything stilled when the match finally drew to an end and Arthur knocked Gwenhwyfar off her feet, seemingly the winner.

But when she kicked his legs from under him, sending him down to join him in the dirt, they called it a draw.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Gwenhwyfar fought unlike anyone he’d ever known. And considering the men he surrounded himself with, that was saying something.

She had both strength and speed, and a sense of strategy in combat that rivaled his own. Yet she also had a grace, an elegance, to her, making it look more like a dance than combat, that reminded him of Guinevere.

She approached him now as he sipped on his refreshments, that same beauty of movement in her every step, and Arthur eagerly held his hand out to her.

“You fought well,” she praised, slipping her fingers in his.

Arthur grinned. “Thank you,” he said. “Though, of course,” he felt compelled to add, “I let her knock me down, at the end. So as to not offend her.”

“Of course,” Guinevere agreed. Arthur held her hand up to his lips.

He couldn’t wait to impress her even more at the tournament tomorrow.

There was a hint of surprise in her smile as he kissed her hand, until it grew as bright as the sun that beat down upon them.

He looked past her, to where the knights were now split between complimenting Gwenhwyfar and her sword – which, Arthur admitted, was magnificent – and fawning over Guenevere, while Merlin ran around them all with a pitcher and a plate, desperately trying and failing to serve everyone.

“Ah, a glimpse into your future,” Arthur commented.

Guinevere cast a quick glance over her shoulder then turned to him again, humor in her eyes. “I do not think anyone will be complimenting _my_ skill with the sword anytime soon.”

Arthur laughed. “I meant the other part of it.”

Now when she looked over to the rest of them, her gaze lingered. Her voice was quiet when she said, “We’re very different.”

Arthur frowned. Were they…not looking at the same thing?

“Although – ” Guinevere looked to him again, the lightness in her voice restored – “we do have one thing in common.” She smiled. “You.”

He smiled, too.

“I think you’ll be pleased to know,” she went on, “that no matter the world, you are always a great king.”

He was, actually, smiling wider still.

Guinevere returned it, eyes full of pride, until she pursed her lips and added, “Elyan, however, not so much, apparently.”

Arthur froze. “What do you mean _Elyan?_ ”

She nodded. “In her world, he is king.”

“I can’t imagine that.”

“Mm, I can’t either. And obviously – ” another glance over her shoulder – “neither can he.”

Arthur hadn’t heard what had been said, but Elyan had a horrorstruck look on his face and Percival was mockingly bowing before him with a flourish, so – yeah, she was probably right.

“Elyan as king,” Arthur said, shaking his head in wonder. “Seems impossible. It would be like me being a…peasant.”

Guinevere’s eyes lit up at that, in an entirely unsettling way.

Dare he ask? “What?”

“Well,” she drawled, “the way she tells it, you _are_ a king there, but you were _raised_ by – ”

“Can’t be…”

“Oh, yes,” she said with feeling, practically delighted. “Two peasants.”

That was the most inconceivable thing he had ever heard.

Alright – perhaps the second or third most inconceivable. Still – “I feel as though that would make me an entirely different person.”

Guinevere hummed lightly, as if in agreement, though she said nothing beyond it.

Arthur wondered about the little pinch at the corner of her mouth for a moment, then decided the best way to go about erasing it was to simply smooth it over with his own lips. He balanced his goblet on the weapons rack next to them, now free to pull Guinevere closer.

Her eyes already brightened as he leaned in.

“Get down!”

Leon’s scream made him grab Guinevere and duck on instinct. The arrow sailed over his head, knocking over the goblet.

For the briefest moment, everything was still. Then he moved, pulling Guinevere with him as he ran, yelling for the rest to follow them to the trees.

The thick tree line was a blessing, providing cover, and Arthur hastily counted them all, each propped against a different trunk. “Is everyone alright?”

Even as they all nodded and muttered they were, he turned around to Guinevere, pressed to his back, still holding onto his hand. Wide-eyed and out of breath, she still gave him a quick nod of reassurance.

He breathed a little easier, though he still cursed what had to be his bad luck. Why couldn’t _anything_ ever go on without someone trying to kill him?

“Where was it fired from?” Gwaine asked.

It was Gwenhwyfar who answered, peering between the trunks, eyes following a path from where the arrow was stuck fast in the ground to the trees on the other side of the clearing. “There,” she said, chin jutting out as she nodded. Arthur knew exactly what spot she spoke of.

“Is there more than one?” Percival prompted next, and though Arthur twisted his neck and squinted through the cracks their shelter allowed, he couldn’t even see their one attacker among the leaves, much less if he had companions.

“I can’t say,” he told Percival – and his eyes were drawn to Guenevere, securely lodged between his tall back and Elyan behind her.

“I’m sorry you were put in peril, my lady,” he said.

“Oh, no, I – ” she shook her head a little, as if dismissing it – “ _love_ danger.”

Merlin and the knights snickered, and behind him, so did Guinevere. Arthur turned to her again, rubbing his thumb into her palm. This would trouble him less if she hadn’t been standing right next to him.

“There is only one,” Gwenhwyfar declared.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “How can you be sure?”

“A single arrow was fired,” she said. “If there were more than just that one of them, you probably would not have escaped with your life.”

She did make a good point.

“Whoever they are, we must lure them out,” she said next.

He agreed. “Any suggestions?”

She looked over to him, lifting her eyebrows.

“You want _me_ to run out there and draw him out?” Arthur deadpanned.

She shrugged, like it was the simplest thing. The knights, of course, reeled in protest – and he knew that Guinevere was surely in frowning in silent disapproval behind him, too.

But then Merlin said, “You should do it.”

The knights spun to him like he was mad. Arthur blinked. Gwenhwyfar ducked her head to hide a smile.

“I’m just saying,” Merlin added, “if he’s after you, he’s probably not going to settle for anyone of us.”

Yes, that – was another good point. It was the nonchalance he was making it with that was just a bit – unsettling. Sometimes, he just did not understand Merlin.

A throat being cleared drew his attention. “Might I make a suggestion?” Guenevere asked, though her eyes were on Guinevere before they settled on him.

Arthur gestured for her to go on. “Please.”

“If you go out there alone, my lord, he will surely know it’s a trap,” Guenevere said. “If we all run together, however, we might have a chance at tricking him.”

How did Guinevere not see how alike they were?

“I am reluctant to put you in any more danger than I already have,” he still hesitated, biting his lip.

She dismissed the concern with a vague shrug. “I’ll just…stay behind Sir Percival.”

“There truly are no limits to your bravery,” Gwenhwyfar commented.

“At least I _think_ before I act.”

“Alright,” Arthur interrupted. Really, this was not the time for another one of their – _conversations._ “We will _all_ run, and…hopefully that will lure him out.” Yes, that was a good plan.

Putting it in motion wasn’t difficult – though Gwenhwyfar laughed when he loudly shouted for them to run for the horses (“You’re a terrible liar,” she said, running past him) – nor was it as nerve-racking as he’d thought, as soon as he made sure Guinevere was safely blocked by Sir Leon.

He counted three more arrows being fired, all missing him by a wide berth. Whoever was trying to kill him was obviously not very good at it.

Just when he thought they were far enough that he’d have to give chase, there was a loud yelp and a mighty thud, as the man apparently crashed down from his spot in the trees.

Arthur could hardly believe both their fortune and the man’s incompetence.

Gwenhwyfar was the first to run to where he’d fallen – though not before she quickly grinned at Merlin, at the rear of their party, for reasons that Arthur could not comprehend –, followed by Gwaine and Leon. Arthur quickly gestured for Elyan and Percival to get both Guineveres to safety before following.

The would-be killer was sprawled lifeless upon the ground, his neck broken, and a heap of gold coins spread around him like a twisted sort of halo.

Gwenhwyfar picked one off the ground, flipping it in her hand. “It seems you had an assassin in Camelot, Your Highness.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Merlin stood in Arthur’s chambers, waiting for either Arthur to come back or for Guenevere to raise her goblet for a refill again. If he had to guess, the latter would happen first.

She’d requested, among other things: a bath, a change of dress, Camelot’s finest wine, and – with the sort of politeness that ladies used when they were displeased – that the king limit any other ‘fun’ activities he might have in mind for them until they were gone.

Merlin thought it a big change from how she’d acted at the picnic. But maybe that was just her way of coping.

Gwen sat opposite her, glancing with increasing frequency to the door.

_When will your king return?_

It was such a strange thing, to have Gwen’s voice in his head, calling him _Emrys._

But he needed only look to the side to remember that it was another one entirely, where she leaned against the cupboard, quietly tapping her foot.

It had come in handy, of course, back at the clearing, to form a silent plan. Though it had been a good job that everyone had been too occupied with thoughts of assassinations to pay him any mind, because he had nearly bowled over in shock, when she’d first spoken directly into his mind, saying, _“Use your magic.”_

_He shan’t be long now._

Gwenhwyfar crossed her arms. _You said that nearly an hour ago._

So he had. _These things run long._

Though she didn’t move an inch, her sigh echoed in his head.

_I know you’re eager to leave,_ he said. He didn’t believe her restlessness had to do with Arthur’s absence for a moment.

_I have many responsibilities. Instead I am forced to waste time here._ She looked him square in the eye. _Thanks for that._

He withheld a wince, and really wished she hadn’t figured that one out. _Sorry._

_Hmm._

_But I’m sure you’ll be home soon,_ he offered, glancing to Guenevere. _Her husband will come for her any moment now._

_Her husband can’t find his own backside, much less this place._

Merlin choked, then covered it quickly with a cough. Then frowned. _The way she talks about him, you’d think he was formidable._

Gwenhwyfar rolled her eyes. _Who can tell what she actually thinks of anything?_

He…couldn’t really disagree with that.

Of course, the same could never be said of Gwenhwyfar, whose every opinion was always right at the tip of her tongue.

He really had to figure out what exactly he’d put in that spell, because neither of them were a true reflection of Gwen. Aside from, well, the fact that they had the same face.

Well – even that was untrue. He turned to Gwenhwyfar again, biting his lip in curiosity. The serpent on her face needed no explanation, but – _How did you get your scar?_

She took a moment to answer. _Defending my prince,_ she eventually said, a secretive sort of smile at the corner of her mouth.

He really had to find out who this prince was. _You know,_ he commented _, you talk about him the same way Guenevere talks about her king, so – I mean, is yours truly formidable or can’t he actually find his own backside either?_

She reeled at that, chin jutting out while she rattled off praises of her prince right into his head, big words of justice and fairness and freedom and whatnot.

Which was probably how _he_ sounded to people when he talked about Arthur.

In that moment, she truly reminded him of Gwen, too – his Gwen, poor thing, looking to the doors again.

Maybe she’d conjured Arthur with the power of her thought alone, because he came through not a moment later, Leon in tow.

Gwen was out of her seat in an instant, taking Arthur’s hand in hers and bringing it to her heart. As tired as he seemed, it brought a smile to his face.

Merlin didn’t know if he was more incensed that someone had tried to kill him, or that they had put another wrench in their wedding celebrations.

Not that he wasn’t responsible for the first.

And off the top his head, he suspected Morgana for the second. Though one would think she’d be less obvious and clumsy about it.

Which was probably what Arthur thought, too, because he sat down, Gwen at his side, and declared it had to have been Odin.

“ _King_ Odin?” Guenevere inquired, like it came as a surprise.

Arthur nodded.

“You have a quarrel with him?”

“Yes,” Arthur said soberly, and didn’t offer a single word beyond that; Guenevere didn’t press the matter either.

Leon looked to Arthur for approval before saying, “Odin has made attempts on the king’s life twice before. The second time…only recently.”

Merlin looked down to his shoes.

“You believe he finally tried to finish the job?” Gwenhwyfar asked, blunt as ever.

Arthur cleared his throat. “Yes,” he said. “Sending assassins after me is…what he does.”

Gwen squeezed his hand atop the table, her expression troubled. Arthur turned to her, a frown in his brow, too. Considering the last assassin had mortally wounded his father instead of him, he really couldn’t be taking it well that it could have just as easily been Gwen this time.

Merlin tore his gaze away from them – and caught a glimpse of Gwenhwyfar and Guenevere’s eyes meeting. Now what was that about?

“Would he really be so bold,” Gwenhwyfar spoke, “as to make another attempt so soon?”

“Like you said – ” Arthur shrugged – “he’s trying to finish the job.”

Gwenhwyfar said nothing further, but her eyes narrowed when no one else was looking, her lips pressed together in thought – an expression Merlin had seen many times on Gwen’s own face.

_You think there’s more to this?_

_I don’t know,_ she said. _But something’s not right._

* * *

 

 

 

_Finally._

Guenevere and Gwenhwyfar were smuggled off to a set of guest chambers each, Leon had rejoined the knights for patrol, Merlin was off to fetch dinner, and _finally,_ it was just him and Guinevere.

Arthur reached for her not a moment after the door shut behind Merlin, pulling her to him.

He kissed her eagerly, sighing against her mouth. He’s been waiting to do that _all_ day.

When they parted, he lingered with his forehead pressed to hers, running his hands down her back. In the meeting, while his uncle accused Odin with certainty and his council agreed, he’d had the worst image cross his mind, of holding Guinevere like he had his father, her blood staining his hands.

She rubbed his shoulders, a hand coming up to play with the ends of his hair. Though she smiled at him, her eyes still betrayed her.

“Don’t worry,” he said softly. “I’ve doubled the guard, and the entire city’s been searched. The assassin acted alone.”

Even as she nodded, her eyes narrowed and her mouth pinched; he knew _that_ look.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know.” She sighed. “There’s much about this that troubles me still.”

He brought his hands round to her waist, running a finger along the edge of the silver chain there. “Like what?”

Her mouth worked wordlessly, as if she struggled to even find a place to _start._ In the end, she began with, “Would Odin really dare attempt anything again so soon? Gwenhwyfar was right to ask. Is it not too bold, even for him?”

“I think once you’ve started sending assassins after princes and kings, you’ve pretty thrown caution to the wind already.”

She frowned.

He let out a soft sigh. “Maybe he’s become so desperate,” he said, quietly, “to see me dead that it’s made him reckless.”

“Alright,” she conceded, though she seemed reluctant to do so, “but then, why send someone so…incompetent?”

“We should just be glad he was, I think,” Arthur muttered.

“No one is more grateful for it than I,” she said, placing a hand over his heart, “but it does make me wonder. He was paid so handsomely, and…well, the two he sent before were much more…capable.”

There was apology in her voice even as she spoke the words, like she hated having to say it.

“Like I said – ” he held her a little tighter – “he’s desperate. Perhaps he hired the first one he could find.”

She didn’t seem all that convinced. “Can I ask…what made you suspect Odin first?”

Well, Agravaine had been the first to make a pretty strong case for it. “The gold the assassin was paid with bears the mark of Odin’s treasury.”

“That doesn’t prove anything.”

“Perhaps not,” he said. “But you have to admit it makes for a lot of coincidences, all at once.”

Guinevere pursed her lips, but dipped her chin in agreement nonetheless. “You’re right,” she said. “I suppose – ” she blew out a breath – “the strangeness of his choice doesn’t matter, only that he didn’t succeed.”

Arthur smiled. He admired her strength at times like these.

He slipped his arm around her again, using the other to take her hand in his. “I am sorry,” he said, “that all of this has happened when we are meant to be celebrating our wedding.”

“It _has_ been a trying day,” she agreed – emphatically.

He had to chuckle at that one. Between her doubles and the assassin – “That’s one way of putting it.”

“Hmm.”

“The important thing is, it’s almost over.” (Though he did wonder what else might go wrong before the end of it.) “And we have more pleasant things to expect, like – ” he pressed her closer to him still – “the fact that the tournament in honor of our engagement begins tomorrow.”

“I do look forward to it,” she said brightly, smiling.

Arthur grinned, and kissed her again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“The assassin failed, my lady,” Agravaine said. “Guinevere lives.”

Morgana turned away from, lip curling.

“Arthur suspects nothing,” Agravaine went on. “He believes it was Odin who sent the assassin after _him._ As we had planned.”

“We _planned_ for Gwen to drown in her own blood,” Morgana hissed.

Time and time again, she escaped her fate – never burned, never froze, never bled until there was no life left in her. Why would she just not _die?_

“Arthur has doubled the guard, knights patrol the city without rest. There will not be another opportunity to – ”

Morgana slammed her hand down upon the table. “I will not see that woman upon my throne!” she cried out in anger.

“I don’t see how we can stop her anymore.”

 She closed her eyes, gritting her teeth. Then it struck her. The perfect solution.

“There is one who could come between them,” she said, the triumph of it bringing a smile to her face. She turned back to Agravaine. “Who would hate the thought of her in my crown as much as I do.”

Her words were met with a deep frown, until Agravaine’s face slowly cleared in understanding. “You don’t mean – ”

“Yes.”

At dawn, she made the journey to the Great Stones of Nemeton, tall and mighty against the grey skies.

Carrying the Horn of Cathbhadh – a cherished gift from her sister –, she made her way to where the circle began, filling her lungs with a deep breath before she blew on it.

Agravaine had tried to dissuade her, even, in the end, trying to make foolish promises that he would finish the job himself. It was just like him, just like a man, to never see beyond his own feelings. Sometimes, to achieve their goals, alliances had to be made with those they despised.

All of Arthur’s guards and knights would not save his beloved Guinevere now.

The lights of the spirit world blinded her as she entered and slowly faded, to reveal his lone figure, white and ghostly, yet unlike the pitiful man Agravaine had once described him as, devoid of mind and spirit.

She smirked. “I need your help, Father.”


	4. Chapter 4

How two days of sweaty men knocking the sense out of each other were an appropriate engagement present for your betrothed, Merlin would never understand.

But Gwen smiled at each of the knights as they lined up on the grounds before her, bowing atop their horses – so maybe she didn’t mind so much.

Or maybe she was just happy to be free of Guenevere and Gwenhwyfar for a while.

There was no doubt what Arthur was happy about, though, grinning as he held his lance up to the royal lodge, so Guinevere could retrieve the hoop from the tip of it. Merlin had personally had to adorn each one of those with tiny little pink ribbons – which had inevitably given him nightmares wherein he was being chased around by giant scraps of cloth.

But at least Arthur was happy.

Merlin was shaking his head at him before he even dismounted by the tents, as Gwaine took to the field.

“I’ve got to hand it to you, if nothing is certainly an original engagement present,” Merlin said. “Whatever happened to flowers and a nice song?”

Arthur rolled his eyes, taking the goblet from his hand and replacing it with the reins of his horse. “It’s tradition,” he said, gesturing around. “My father had a tournament before his wedding.”

“Oh, so it’s not even an _original_ present, then.”

“I think my future wife understands,” Arthur said pointedly, raising the goblet in her direction – where she was thanking and smiling down on Gwaine, making him grin.

Merlin couldn’t help but be swept by it, too. Assassins and otherworldly visitors aside, Camelot had a lot to celebrate.

(He did worry about the otherworldly visitors a bit, though. Locks and keys may hold Guenevere, but he wasn’t so sure about Gwenhwyfar.)

“Tell me the point of the hoops and the lances again?”

Arthur sighed.

“I’m just saying, I spent my night arranging those things. I’d like to know what it was all for,” Merlin said, watching Sir Ranulf take position.

“Retrieving the hoop grants you a place in the jousting later.”

“Doesn’t just being a knight grant you that?”

“You have to _earn_ it.”

“Doesn’t all the hell you put them through earn them at least this?”

“Of course _you_ wouldn’t understand that – ”

Arthur fell suddenly silent, jaw going slack.

Ranulf had missed.

A hush fell over the crowd. Ranulf stared at his lance then the hoop, uncomprehending. Gwen looked uncomfortable.

And so began the string of failure.

Five knights tried and five knights failed, and by the end of it, Arthur was grabbing at his hair.

“What are they _doing?_ ”

“Umm…” Merlin scratched his head. “Maybe they’re having a bad day?”

“They can’t have a bad day!” Arthur cried. “This is – that – they’re meant to be proving themselves to their future queen! Impressing her with the strength of Camelot’s army!”

He whirled on him – like he would have the answers here. “How is _this_ going to show her that she can rely on their protection?”

Merlin blinked.

How was shoving lances through hoops going to show her that in the first place?

And while Uther certainly would have, once upon a time, needed to impress such things upon Queen Ygraine –

“Right, but – well, I mean…Gwen’s spent her whole life in Camelot, she already knows all of them and how good they are,” he said – a statement somewhat undermined by the fact that Sir Lamorak came, went and failed, too.

The crowd started booing.

Arthur whined.

“At this rate I’ll be fighting myself!”

(Sir Kay readied, looking heavenward in silent prayer.)

“Well, look on the bright side – at least then you’ll be sure to win,” Merlin said; Arthur spun to him like he was mad.

“How is me winning by default going to impress Guinevere?”

“Oh, so it’s about _you_ impressing Gwen?”

Arthur threw his arms out. “Yes!”

“Mm.” Merlin nodded.

(Sir Kay, inevitably, missed.)

“But it’s like I said, Arthur, she’s seen you joust and fight plenty of times, too, I mean – now, if you _really_ wanted to impress her, you should try cooking a chicken again.”

Arthur’s glare was murderous. “I’ll cook _you._ ”

Really now.

Sir Leon came to the field, looking a little green.

Arthur looked like he might actually get sick.

“I can’t watch this,” he said, and promptly turned away, burying his face in his hands.

Merlin sighed.

Well, then. Saving Camelot and the dignity of Arthur’s men it was, one magic trick at a time.

Leon charged, and Merlin swayed the hoop right in his lance’s path.

The people erupted in deafening cheers.

Arthur’s head came up at the sound of it.

“Oh, thank God,” he let out, doubling over in relief.

The sentiment was entirely echoed in Gwen’s hearty, vehement, _‘thank you,’_ to Leon when he presented her with the offering.

One of these days, Merlin thought, they would truly come to appreciate everything he did for them.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“We must act now while they’re occupied.”

Guenevere withheld a sigh.

She had gotten no rest, not a moment of peace, since the minute she had been shown to her quarters. Gwenhwyfar had come in the night, scaring her half to death – if she was a terror in the light of day, the night made her a creature of the netherworld –, and going on and on and _on_ about returning to their worlds.

Now standing over her shoulder, in these chambers the king had confined her to, Gwenhwyfar went on about it some more. “Their Emrys will reverse his magic.”

“If he knew how to undo what he has done, I think he would’ve done it by now,” Guenevere said. “Besides, you can’t really trust the man who has brought us here by _accident_ to return you home _safely,_ can you?”

“Well, that’s why we have you, don’t we? Did I not once hear your husband brag that you have an entire _library_ dedicated to travelling between worlds on the seas of Meredor?”

“Oh, _now_ you’re eager for my knowledge?”

She was greeted to Gwenhwyfar’s widest, most insincere smile. “ _Please._ ”

Guenevere wrenched her head away, and stared on straight ahead.

Gwenhwyfar pushed herself away from the table, muttering, “You’re such a child.”

“I’m the child?” Guenevere let out, unable to contain it. “You’re the one who can’t sit still for a second!”

“I have responsibilities!”

“Do you think that _I_ don’t?”

“Don’t pretend they are the same as _mine._ ”

Guenevere bit her tongue against a retort.

“I know what position you’re in,” she said instead. “I know what you worry your people will think of your disappearance.”

Gwenhwyfar’s proud, angry chest deflated at it. A little sympathy, Guenevere had found, went a long way.

“But you should have more faith in them,” she advised. “Even if they do suspect the quee – Morgaine, first, they must soon realize that she didn’t take you. You’re bound to your prince, aren’t you? He will sense it.”

“He will sense that I am gone from the world,” Gwenhwyfar said quietly.

Guenevere sighed.

“It is a terrible thing,” she agreed. “But he will see you again soon.”

“ _Not,_ ” Gwenhwyfar said, flaring again, “if you won’t help me get out of here.”

Sympathy between them never did last long.

“Must you be so difficult?” Guenevere said. “ _My_ Arthur will come for us.”

“Really?” Gwenhwyfar demanded. “Yesterday, you said it would take him no more than a day.” She spread her arms out. “The day’s come and gone, and he’s still nowhere to be found.”

Guenevere swallowed, squaring her shoulders. “He will come.”

“Oh, the man rescues you from a dungeon _once_ – ”

“It was a tower!”

Gwenhwyfar huffed.

Gripping the armrests where Gwenhwyfar couldn’t see, Guenevere said, “I am as eager to leave this place as you are.”

“Well, for a woman eager to leave, you certainly seem to be enjoying yourself here.”

Guenevere nearly laughed. “What’s not to enjoy? Magic is outlawed, assassins roam the city, and our _only_ saving grace is that we bear the likeness of the king’s beloved.”

Gwenhwyfar pursed her lips. “Yes, that last bit was fortunate,” she said, like it pained her to admit it.

“Unwise of any king to be so weakened by it, but yes – _fortunate._ ”

“You say that like _your_ Arthur isn’t taken by every version of you he finds.”

“And you say _that_ like you’re immune to it,” Guenevere said. “I saw the way you were with Elyan.”

It was cruel, perhaps, to even bring it up. Gwenhwyfar looked away, lips pressed tightly together.

“We have _got_ to get out of here.”

“We will,” Guenevere said. “But we must be patient.”

“I am out of patience!” Gwenhwyfar said – proving it rather strongly by raising her voice. “All we need is _one_ spell!” She planted her hands on the table. “With our knowledge and Emrys’s power, we could be gone before dusk.”

“By which time Arthur will have surely come as well,” Guenevere remained firm.

“Oh, for heaven’s – ” Gwenhwyfar turned away, pulling at her hair.

The moments ticked by, filled with only her ragged breathing, quick then slower, and slower still, until it evened out.

“I am not trying to be difficult,” she eventually said, a thickness to her voice. “It’s just this place – ” she looked around, to the stones and the windows, almost as if the sight alone chilled her – “these people, this _world_ …” She shook her head. “Something brews here, and I, for one, do not care to find myself in the middle of it.”

For once, they felt the same way.

But her convictions remained – and even Gwenhwyfar, with all of her passions and impulses, was not devoid of sense.

So Guenevere tried to reason with her instead, saying, “Even if we do try to break free on our own, do you not see what challenges we face? Merlin clearly has no idea how to wield this sort of magic. And even if _we_ were to instruct him, you assume we would know – that _I_ would know, how to do so with the elements of _this_ world.”

It pained her to show this weakness, but it was necessary. “Look around. How many plants of this world can you even _name?_ ”

And they were plentiful. In these chambers alone, flowers brimmed on every corner, every surface. With all this trouble, one could nearly forget that this was a time of celebration for the people here.

Guenevere almost felt sorry for them.

“Like this – ” She gestured to the vase upon the table and its assortment of little blooms, purple and pale, all stacked neatly on their stems.

Gwenhwyfar frowned. “Yes, what is that?”

“I have no idea.”

“You, the great world traveler?”

Guenevere ignored that.

“So you see my point,” she said. “Your plan is flawed. I may know a devil’s tear is needed to open the path to another world, but I could never guess its match _here._ ”

She almost rejoiced when _finally,_ a look of defeat settled on Gwenhwyfar’s face, the corners of her mouth turning down with it.

But then of course, they turned right back up.

“We could find out,” she said.

Gods, why could she never just – “How do you hope to do that?”

“Well, they’ve got to have a library somewhere around here too, don’t they?” She waved a hand about. “Books of knowledge on the living things of this world?”

“While I agree that even the most backwards of people would hold encyclopedias,” Guenevere said, “how do you suppose that will help us?”

Gwenhwyfar raised an eyebrow. “Come now, I’m not a fool,” she said, bracing against the table again. “I know you think of these things as a science. Surely, if you know the _properties_ of the ingredients we need, you can find their match here.”

Guenevere really wished they weren’t so evenly matched. She held out hope one last time. “We cannot be seen.”

Gwenhwyfar looked her up and down. “You can easily pass for the Guinevere of this world. No one will suspect anything.”

Of course that would be her plan. Just run headlong into danger and keep your fingers crossed.

“Even if I agreed to your way of doing things,” Guenevere said, “I’d really rather not risk being mistaken for her and end up with an arrow through my chest.”

Gwenhwyfar stilled.

Then, she cocked her head, curiosity in her eyes. “You think _she_ was the target?”

“You can’t tell me you believe the attack yesterday was all that it seemed?”

“Of course not,” Gwenhwyfar said. “But I only thought someone had chosen this _Odin_ to take the fall for their plans.” She rolled her eyes. “No king would ever be this obvious about trying to kill someone.”

“No,” Guenevere said, “and neither would any assassin choose to strike when he did when he had ample opportunity before.”

“He wasn’t very good at his job.”

Guenevere raised an eyebrow. “I have no doubt his incompetence was entirely of Merlin’s making.”

Gwenhwyfar smiled and ducked her head.

“In any case, the fact remains,” Guenevere said, “that if the king was his target, the perfect time to strike would have been when he stood alone and everyone else was occupied. But the assassin waited until _she_ was with him to fire.”

“Hmm.” Gwenhwyfar seemed to consider that. “Yes, but – I mean, really? Her? She seems too _mild_ to have ever made an enemy in her life.”

“I suspect she is far stronger than she appears.” Guenevere said. _Brave,_ she thought. “And besides, she is about to become queen. It’s not an _un_ desirable position.”

Gwenhwyfar looked away. “Quite,” she agreed, so very quietly.

Guenevere decided not to get in the middle of _that._ Not now.

“The simple truth of it is,” she said, “that girl is a target for someone very cunning, and very bold, and _I_ will not risk my neck by impersonating her – for nothing.”

She met Gwenhwyfar’s eyes with finality, only to find her looking back with something akin to reproach.

“If this is true, her life is in grave danger and no one knows it,” she said. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Now _that,”_ Guenevere said pointedly, “would be getting in the middle of it, wouldn’t it?”

Gwenhwyfar pursed her lips, but seemed to let it go.

Until she slowly smirked, an entirely unsettling light in her eye. “Say it is true that she is in danger and that whoever wants her dead is not finished yet,” she said, “do you know who most certainly _will_ want to get in the middle of it if he comes?”

Guenevere froze.

What _was_ this backwards world, where the likes of Merlin had to grovel and hide as servants, Arthur shunned magic rather than embraced it, Morgana was nowhere to be found, and Gwenhwyfar was the wiser of them?

“Right, so, we need to get to the library – ”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

She barely had one foot inside the tent before Arthur was already apologizing.

“You must believe they’re not usually like this.”

“I know,” Gwen assured, smiling.

She had worried, for a moment there, that their performance had been the reflection of their true feelings on her becoming queen – an unreasonable thought, of course –, but their improvement later on (and their adamant apologies on her way here) had put such things to rest.

Arthur gave a soft sigh. “Good,” he said, but still frowned. “Still, I can’t imagine what got into them…”

He perked up the next moment though. “It must the pressure of entertaining their future queen.”

“It must be,” Gwen agreed.

He came closer, holding his hands out to her. She kept hers behind her back.

His eyes narrowed as he tried to peek down over shoulder but she leaned away, bowing back; his gaze promptly fell to her mouth. His smiled, too, slow and crooked.

“What have you got there?”

She lingered in the moment a while longer, before pulling out her token. “I thought you might wear it in the match later,” she said, twisting the fabric around her fingers. “You know – for _luck._ ”

Arthur chuckled, delighted. “Thank you,” he said, taking hold of it with care.

His smile never leaving him, he commented, “This brings back memories.”

“Yes,” she agreed, and never once mentioned it was precisely the reason she thought he _needed_ luck.

He wrapped the token around his hand, both now free to go to her waist. “You know, I seem to remember,” he said, “another thing that happened last time you gave me a token such as this one.”

She feigned confusion. “I can’t imagine what you’re referring to.”

He looked like he might laugh but sobered quickly. “Would you like me to remind you?” he asked, very seriously.

She said nothing, only tipped her head up for a kiss.

Arthur obliged, pressing his lips to hers just as sweetly as he had that day.

Still running his hands up and down her back, he asked, “Have lunch with me later?”

“Of course,” she accepted immediately, and got a wider smile still out of him. “Although,” she added, “we must see Geoffrey first, after the match. He wants both of us.”

“Why?”

“To go over the ceremony.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “That seems like a waste of time.”

She fiddled with his chainmail. “I think it’s mostly for my benefit.”

He said nothing for a moment.

“Sometimes I forget…that you weren’t taught these things the way that I was.”

It wasn’t the only thing she hadn’t been taught, either.

“I’ve known how to say my vows since I was a boy.”

He touched a finger to her cheek, a smile at the corner of his mouth. “But let’s see, how do they go again? Ah, yes – ”

He stepped back, making a show of taking her hands in his and holding them up between their bodies. “I shall not seek to change thee in any way – ”

She laughed. “Arthur…”

“I shall respect thee as I respect myself – ”

“You don’t have to say them _now,_ ” she said – and yet she was grinning.

He was grinning, too, a silly sort of quirk to it. “I’ve known how to crown my queen since I was a boy, too,” he added. “I promise not to stutter.”

She ducked her head, shaking with silent laughter.

His fingers came up to trace the edges of her smile. “Long live the queen,” he whispered.

It straightened her spine at once, as if the words alone had made the crown settle down upon her head. She looked into Arthur’s eyes, so full of love and faith, soothing her like a lullaby. And yet her mind wandered.

To the others, and all the things they were that she was not.

“Not quite yet,” she whispered in kind.

“Two days,” he grumbled under his breath, as if ready wage war on time itself for going so slowly, and leaned to kiss her again, pressing his lips to hers with purpose this time.

Her mind wandered again, from being his queen to being his wife, and her heart beat fast for thinking of the future, so near now, where they would not have to part, and their desires would need not be only sated with kisses.

And then it wasn’t just her heart making noise.

Arthur parted from her with narrowed eyes and a furrowed brow, cocking his head at the weapons rack that had toppled over without warning.

He turned back to her, pursing his lips. “Is it just me, or are things in Camelot even stranger than usual these days?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“I will say this: she has _impeccable_ taste.”

Gwenhwyfar turned to her, then the closet, then back to her again. “If you say so, Your Highness.”

“Truly, look at these,” Guenevere insisted, reaching for the bright, colorful dresses in the back – why Guinevere had chosen to keep them behind all the other, plainer ones, she had no idea.

Then again, she also had no idea how she had found herself raiding the closet of the royal chambers so she could impersonate a serving girl yet to be queen, so…

Gwenhwyfar stepped closer, hand out to brush the hem of the blue one. “It is beautiful,” she agreed, quietly, a faraway look in her eyes.

She said nothing else for a while, until she asked, “Should we really not say anything about her life being in danger?”

“What happens in this world is not our concern,” Guenevere said.

“Right.”

She cocked her head. “Have you grown fond of her?”

“No,” Gwenhwyfar said, still fingering the dress. “But I find myself strangely preoccupied with it.” Her hand fell away. “Like it’s somehow my duty to protect her.”

“Perhaps that’s just your nature.”

“Perhaps.” She sighed. “And perhaps you’re right, when you only treat the people of other worlds as strangers and curiosities. Letting them remind you of those you know…makes you think too much.”

“Elyan?”

“It’s not just Elyan.” And yet her breath still caught on the name. “I tried not to care, but the longer I am here, the weaker I am to it. I look at Arthur, and Emrys – _Merlin,_ and Gaius and Gwaine and the others, and I see _mine._ I wonder about Lancelot – Morgaine, even. And Guinevere…”

She looked around the chambers then – the weapons and the ornaments, the flowers and the dresses; the little bottles by the vanity –, before she met her eyes again.

“I look at her and I wonder about _myself,”_ she said, swallowing. “Could _I_ do it?”

What a thing to hear her say.

Twice before they had met, and both times she had known her to be only one way. Honest and stubborn, always so loud and outspoken – and yet on this one matter, she was quiet, and shy, and held her tongue. When she spoke of the future, it was only of what her prince would become, never of her place in it. But to hear her even wonder about it now…

Guenevere couldn’t help but smile.

But of course, Gwenhwyfar shook her head the next moment, like she was being ridiculous. “Forget I said that.”

“As you wish.”

“Here – ” She thrust the first dress at hand towards her. “Put this on, and – ” she gestured vaguely to her head – “get rid of those.”

Guenevere covered her gems on instinct. “I shan’t!”

“ _She_ doesn’t wear them,” Gwenhwyfar said, like she was speaking to a dim child.

“ _Fine,_ ” Guenevere bit out, pulling them out and forcing herself to drop them into Gwenhwyfar’s awaiting hand. “Be careful with them!”

Naturally, Gwenhwyfar turned them over this way and that with any care whatsoever. Then she frowned, her mouth dropping open. “Are these from _my_ world?”

Guenevere pressed her lips together. “Perhaps.”

“Did you _steal_ these?”

“No! Arthur bought them for me!”

Gwenhwyfar seemed unimpressed. “How sweet.”

“Yes, well, not _every_ man can mark himself in your image to show his love.”

Gwenhwyfar’s hand rose to touch her marking and fell back down just as quickly. “How do you even know that’s how we’re bound?”

“Your Emrys is chatty.”

“Of course he is,” she grumbled.

“In all fairness, Arthur had gotten him drunk.”

Gwenhwyfar looked like she might be entertaining thoughts of murder. “Just get dressed.”

“Alright.”

Her nerves got to her once set through the palace, though, and she almost _wished_ for Gwenhwyfar’s presence at her side.

It didn’t help that everything in this place seemed loose, or unlocked, or badly held. Wind blew windows open down every other corridor, nearly making her heart fail again and again; twice, nails gave out and shields nearly fell from the walls and onto her head, and once, a clumsy maid tangled her in a basket of spilled linens, nearly choking her to death with dirty sheets.

This place was cursed.

Or Guinevere was, probably.

Cursed was her own mind too, most likely, for it kept conjuring Gwenhwyfar’s image, brow furrowed in disapproval.

Guinevere’s life was a matter for the fates of this world, not hers. And yet…

The flash of a black cloak caught her eye, disappearing down a corridor, and she blamed Gwenhwyfar for making her reckless even as she changed course to follow it.

Lord Agravaine walked down the hallway, his boots beating quickly upon the stones.

Unlike Arthur, unlike herself, he was never just one thing. From world to world, like Morgana, he was either friend of foe, ally or enemy to his kin, loyal or treacherous. The one she called family out of courtesy, that Ygraine spoke so lovingly of, was the former. But what to make of this one?

“My lord,” she called.

He stopped dead, turning to her with a look in his eyes she could never hope to place.

“Guinevere.”

Even with the sun beating down through the window behind her, she felt cold. “Are you leaving?”

“There’s some urgent business I must attend to outside the city.”

“But you’ll miss the tournament,” she said.

“Unfortunately.”

The window at her back blew open, too, making her jump. She spun to it, the cold growing icy.

She thought of Gwenhwyfar again. _Something brews here._

Turning back to Agravaine, as she stood so chilled in her ivory dress, she swore he looked on her and saw someone else entirely.

“You should return to Arthur,” he said – no more, no less, and merely turned to walk the rest of his way.

There were stories her mother used to tell, of boggarts who came from the darkness to prey on the innocent. But their nature betrayed them in the light of day, where even in the sun, they stayed as black as night itself.  

Now as she watched him go, a black smear against the walls, she had the oddest sense that she had found one in real life.

Gwenhwyfar was right. They had to get out of here, with or without her husband.

Hiding her shaking hands in the folds of her skirts, she resumed her task with purpose. The library, when she finally came upon it, was a cold, dark place, too; so unlike the one back home, with its rich white stones and high windows.

She browsed the shelves for a long time, urgency making her impatient as she tried to make sense of the order they kept here, until she finally found what she needed in a secluded, damp corner.

Flipping through the pages calmed her in time, finding peace in the facts scribbled inside that offered most of what she was looking for.

She had just about decided that a devil’s tear was best replaced by something called belladonna in this world, when – because it had no regard for the state of her heart and nerves – a short, old man came to startle her.

“My lady!”

Guenevere froze, book in hands, and could only think of saying, “I’m not a lady yet.”

He chuckled at that, holding on to his belly. “Oh, yes. But it’s good to get used to saying it.”

“Yes, it’s…good for me to get used to hearing it, too,” she said.

He smiled kindly. “Might I help you with something?”

“Oh, no, I’ve…found what I needed, thank you. My lord.”

But he didn’t leave her be, eyeing the book instead. “Is the king not joining us?”

_What?_ “Um…he shan’t be long, I think.”

Whatever the man meant to say next was cut off by the gasp that came from behind him.

_Guinevere._

The man looked from one to the other, head snapping back and forth, then clutched his chest, gasped in kind, and promptly crumbled to the ground.

Guinevere’s hands went to her mouth.

Guenevere bit her lip.

“I’m… _sure_ he’s not dead.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Arthur tapped his foot, arms crossed, and glared at them. “What were you thinking?”

Guenevere sat as a guilty child at the table, with Gwenhwyfar leaning against the chair next to her. She looked like she was fighting a laugh the entire time, and honestly, Arthur found that just as insulting as the act itself.

“You nearly killed my master of ceremony two days before my wedding!”

“That’s…an overstatement,” Guenevere said.

Arthur wasn’t moved. “Explain yourself.”

Her chin jutted out at that. Obviously, a lady of her standing didn’t appreciate being addressed so. Well, _he_ didn’t appreciate having the high of his first victory against Bors spoiled by being forced to ask Gaius to nurse Geoffrey of Monmouth back to health.

And to make the poor man believe he had been seeing things.

Guenevere’s mouth thinned like she’d swallowed something bitter, before she squared her shoulders, head held high as she declared, “I was bored.”

Gwenhwyfar promptly turned away.

Arthur stilled. “ _Bored?_ ”

“Yes.”

“You nearly frightened a man to death,” he said slowly, “because you were _bored?”_

“Obviously, it was never my intention to do any harm,” she said.

_Was_ it obvious?

“But there’s not much for me to do here, and my company leaves something to be desired – ”

Gwenhwyfar stifled a snort.

“ – so I sought opportunity to entertain myself. Whatever grief I have caused you or your master of ceremony, I apologize for it.”

Guinevere had been right. They were nothing alike.

He had been so fooled by appearance, but now he began to wonder. They had shown themselves to be liars. And the strange things in Camelot had started with their arrival.

“I thought we had agreed you could not be seen,” he said tightly.

“It was never my attention to be seen.”

“So, of course, you decided to impersonate the future queen – for fun.”

She offered nothing in return.

“Forgive me, my lady,” he said coldly, “but I find it hard to trust your intentions here.”

“I mean no harm,” she said it again, like it still held any meaning at this point. Next to her, even Gwenhwyfar seemed to have stopped finding the situation amusing. She was looking to Merlin now.

Then over his other shoulder, to Guinevere, her brow furrowed.

Arthur demanded, “Who brought you here?”

“I do not know,” Guenevere said, agitated.

“For what purpose?”

“I can’t imagine.”

He pressed his lips together. She wasn’t Guinevere. And yet to see her distressed… “You understand why I don’t believe that?” he pressed on nevertheless.

She swallowed. “I don’t know what – ”

“You said your husband would be here by now,” he cut in, striving to sound hard. “So where is he?”

She looked so frightened for a moment that he nearly lost his nerve. But he raised an eyebrow, sneering, “Don’t know that either?”

She looked away, down to her hands. But, inexplicably, Gwenhwyfar’s hand fell to her shoulder then, as if in comfort; Arthur frowned at it.

“She speaks the truth,” Gwenhwyfar said. “There is no need to upset her so.”

What sort of game – “I’m meant to believe you’re friends now?”

“We are bound by this one experience,” she sounded hard, too, “of having our lives depend on your whims.”

“Please,” Guenevere choked, trying to silence her.

Arthur reeled. “You think _I_ execute people for sport?”

“I think,” she said, “that by your laws, I ought to be dead by now. That it is a crime to love the practices that I do. Am I wrong?”

_I am not my father,_ he thought, an immediate impulse. What he let her hear instead was, “I have never executed someone of your kind.”

She looked him up and down, with eyes he swore could see beyond what he could, all the way down to the stains of druid blood on his hands.

“I doubt that.”

He forced himself to show no weakness in the face of those few words. But perhaps they explained why the favor she showed him waxed and waned like the moon.

He suddenly did feel like his father, seeing foe where there was friend, seeing the guilty where there were only the innocent. So he turned to look over his shoulder, to Guinevere.

She stood unmoving next to Sir Leon, her expression troubled. She met his eyes, and ever-so-slightly, shook her head.

Arthur gave a quiet sigh, and faced the others again; Guenevere was holding on to Gwenhwyfar’s hand, whispering something he couldn’t quite make out.

“What’s that now, my lady?”

He saw no fear in her as she looked to him this time. “My husband will come,” she said, confident and clear. “Depending on what sort of magic brought us here, he might need to search a hundred worlds before he finds me. But he _will._ ”

Arthur marveled at the sort of devotion she described.

Merlin said, “The one who can’t find his own backside?”

All spun to him.

Arthur shook his head at the image he made, that of the perfect bumbling fool who realized a moment too late that he had spoken out loud.

Guenevere glared at Gwenhwyfar.

The latter laughed under her breath. “Forgive me.”

“He is not as incapable as you think.”

“He got lost trying to find his way from one tent to another!”

“Your camp is enormous!”

“They were right next to each other!”

So, _their_ friendship obviously didn’t last long.

“You know, _yours_ isn’t the most perfect of them either,” Guenevere said.

“Yes, well – better than yours,” was Gwenhwyfar’s reply.

Arthur stared at them. God, he needed a drink.

Or a hundred.

“Well, _mine_ is the one who’s going to get us out of here – like _I_ said.”

“No, like _I_ said, _yours_ is the one who is going to _keep_ us here.”

_Wait, what?_

Guinevere cleared her throat. There was a question in her eyes when Arthur met them; whatever it was she wanted, he nodded his permission.

She looked to Guenevere then, coming closer. “Does he come alone?” she asked.

Guenevere took a moment to answer. “No.”

“He needs someone to wield the magic for him?”

“Yes.”

Guinevere nodded, like it was exactly what she’d needed to hear. Arthur couldn’t fathom what that was.

Her voice softened the next moment though, a kind smile on her lips. “I understand what it means to fear an unfamiliar place,” she said. “But there is nothing to be frightened of. Not here.”

While Guenevere’s expression revealed little of her thoughts, there was that furrow in Gwenhwyfar’s brow as she looked on Guinevere again, and Arthur grew uneasy under it.

Guinevere didn’t seem to notice. “All the king has asked is that you be honest. Whatever it was you needed, you should have only asked.”

What was she –

Before he could make sense of it, Guenevere was speaking again. “This, you can see the truth of,” she said, like it was both a wonder and beyond understanding all at once.

Guinevere frowned, and Arthur did the same, the unease slithering up his spine like a chill.

The windows banged open.

“Merlin!”

“I didn’t leave them open!” Merlin protested.

Arthur huffed, shook his head – and froze at the sight of Gwenhwyfar. Her eyes were not on them but the windows, wild and frightened.

She moved before he could comprehend it, drawing her sword. It sliced through the air, splitting the spear that had sailed across the quarters.

Arthur pulled Guinevere behind him, reaching for his own blade, just as Leon did the same for Merlin. Guenevere hid under the table.

Guinevere’s ragged breaths were in his ear, her hands clutching at his back, while Leon looked to him for guidance he couldn’t offer and Merlin stared straight ahead – to Gwenhwyfar, before them all, chest heaving in the stillness, eyes roaming the place, looking for things only she could see.

He heard her cry out before he ever saw the blade that came at her, striking down upon hers. It moved as if wielded by the best of swordsmen but there was nothing, no one, that held it – and yet Gwenhwyfar fought it, like she could see, sense, every move of her opponent.

But there was something he could sense about them, too, something that he recognized –

Guinevere’s fingers fisted in his shirt.

Finally, with a roar, Gwenhwyfar knocked the blade out of the air, making it clatter to the ground. She stood so for a moment longer before she straightened, as if whatever had attacked them was gone. But every muscle of her body remained tense.

She met his eyes over her shoulder.

“We are not only ones here who do not belong in this world.”


	5. Chapter 5

“A ghost?”

“Yes.”

Arthur couldn’t really wrap his mind around it. “As in…”

“As in a spirit summoned from the other side,” Gwenhwyfar said, blowing the last of the powder out of the palm of her hand. Salt and lavender – that Merlin had, somehow, gone to fetch without ever having been told to –, crushed to the finest of powders, now settled into every corner of the royal chambers. She had said it was for protection.

From the _ghost._

“Summoned?” Arthur echoed.

Gwenhwyfar wiped her hands. “Spirits cannot cross into the world of the living this way. Someone brought this one here.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

“It wasn’t us,” she said, shaking her head.

When so much mystery surrounded them still, how could he truly believe that? He spared a glance at Guenevere, who had come out from under the table none worse for wear and now sat at it again with all the feigned calm of a woman who just wanted to be out of here.

She had broken her silence only once, to request Gwenhwyfar return her jewels so that she may weave them in her hair again. Arthur swore she wore them the way he wore his armor.

His eyes moving down the table, he prompted, “Gaius?”

“It is true,” Gaius said, “that what you have described resembles the actions of a ghost. It is entirely possible.”

He turned to Gwenhwyfar. “You did not recognize them?”

“Even I do not have the power to _see_ a ghost,” she said. “I can only sense their presence.”

Quite fortunate that was, too. Unless this was all some sort of game, the twists of which were entirely beyond his comprehension. But if he believed her to be genuine –

“I must thank you,” he said. “Without you, I would surely be dead.”

Gwenhwyfar only nodded, lips pressing together. Her eyes slipped to Guinevere again.

“You believe this is connected to the assassin, my lord?” Leon asked.

“I _have_ to assume the two are connected,” Arthur said, wearily dragging himself to the seat next to Guinevere’s; the look in her eyes told him she agreed. “Although – ”

He stopped himself just short of letting his mouth get away from him, wary now to share so much in front of their…guests.

But of course, he reckoned without Merlin.

“Odin hardly has the power to do this.”

Arthur turned to glare at him. He actually had the nerve to shrug in return.

While he entertained thoughts of nights in the stocks, Gwenhwyfar spoke, almost eagerly, “There are only a handful of ways to summon a ghost.”

“None of which Odin could do.” Merlin was nodding in agreement.

“How would _you_ know?” Arthur let out. 

“Er…”

“I’m afraid they’re both right,” Gaius said.

Arthur looked to him again.

“To do this requires great knowledge of the spirit world,” Gaius went on. “And Odin…has never been known to embrace sorcery, much less practice it. If he is behind this, then I must believe another is helping him.”

_Of course._

Arthur sighed. “Morgana.”

Guinevere tensed beside him.

“She is your enemy?” Gwenhwyfar asked.

It was Merlin who answered again. “Yes.”

_Oh, well,_ Arthur supposed. _Do know when you are beaten._ “She seeks the throne of Camelot.”

He swore he saw great sympathy in her eyes before they turned away from him, to come and settle solely on Guenevere. What sort of obscure conversation flowed between them, Arthur couldn’t hope to guess.

Nor could he hope to guess Morgana’s reasoning, if she was involved. “But it isn’t like her to strike against me in this way.”

Truthfully, if this was her, he would expect there to be more bloodshed. “Why would she hide like this, why would she send an assassin and a ghost to kill me under false pretences?”

The question hung in the air, unanswered.

It was then that Guenevere decided to end her long silence, to say, “She didn’t. In fact, this isn’t about you at all.”

Her eyes slipped to Guinevere. “It’s about her.”

Arthur stilled.

“Me?” Guinevere let out, incredulous.

Guenevere didn’t waver. “Think on these attempts,” she urged. “You know I’m right.”

But Arthur was shaking his head. “Morgana’s quarrel is with me, it’s not with Guinevere.”

“I think her quarrel is with all of us,” Merlin said quietly.

Arthur met his eyes, so sad yet certain. But it made no sense. He wouldn’t believe it.

“No, this – ” He made to argue but it died on his tongue at the sight of Guinevere. She looked neither incredulous nor doubtful now, rather about as convinced as her double, biting her lip.

“It might be true,” she said, and it frightened him more coming out of her mouth than anyone else’s. “You see, it’s…happened before.”

_“What?”_

She cast a furtive glance to Gaius. “When you set for the Isle of the Blessed, when the Dorocha were here, um…I’ve every reason to believe someone tried to kill me and make it look like their doing.”

It shocked him so completely, he couldn’t even find the words to answer.

Leon found them for him. “You never said anything!”

“I was going to, but then you returned, and Lancelot – ” She pressed a hand to her heart, swallowing.

(Gwenhwyfar bowed her head.)

“And then, when it didn’t happen again, I just…”

“You should have told me,” Arthur said.

“I know,” she said, chewing on her lip. “But like I said, nothing happened again, so I didn’t think it would…matter.”

“Someone tries to do you harm, and you don’t think it matters? To _me?”_

Guilt filled her eyes all at once. “I’m sorry.”

Arthur closed his eyes, biting back a sigh. He forced his feelings aside now, to ask, “You suspected Morgana then?”

“Maybe.” She shrugged. “I thought about it for a long time, and I just…can’t imagine that anyone in Camelot would want to see me dead. But Morgana was near – she had to be, to cause the trouble she did, and so…so I thought that maybe, I could see her hand in it.”

“And now?”

She sighed deeply.

“You know I believed the attempt yesterday to be clumsy, at best. But if… _I_ was the target, then that might explain it. And if it is so, then I must also believe Odin has no hand in this. That it was only a trick of Morgana’s to divert suspicion.”

It fell into place so neatly, piece by piece, and each was as another stone settling in his gut.

“Why would Morgana strike against you?” he asked, seeking her hand under the table. “You’ve never done her any wrong.”

Her fingers wrapped around his tightly. “I’m starting to suspect that she’s hated me for a long time,” she said, her voice breaking on the words. “I do not know what it is I’ve done to deserve it.”

“You’ve done nothing,” he assured immediately.

She blew out a quiet breath, and offered him a watery smile.

Still grasping at her hand to help stay his temper, he turned to Guenevere. “You suspected this, too?”

“Only that she was the true target,” she admitted.

God grant him patience. “And you…never thought to say anything?”

“I am not of this world, what happens in it is not my business.”

“Right, so…a woman’s life hangs in the balance and that’s just none of your concern at all?”

“I never claimed to be as virtuous as you, my lord,” she said.

_Ha!_ “So why speak up now?”

She shrugged and sighed in a way that could mean only one thing: _Gwenhwyfar._

Arthur’s gratitude to her suddenly doubled. So it was to her that he turned to ask, “How do we get rid of this ghost?”

She shrugged. “It would help to be able to see them first.”

“There is a potion I might be able to make for that purpose,” Gaius said.

Arthur nodded. “Good.”

“The rest of it might depend on the way they were summoned,” Gwenhwyfar said, pacing the quarters. “The possibilities are few – ”

“Fewer still here, I think,” Guenevere supplied.

“Probably, but most still require action from the one who summoned the ghost in the first place. Assuming you have little leverage over your Morgana – ” she halted her circling, coming to a stand behind Guenevere – “that would make her undo what she has done, I fear you might be left with only one option.”

Arthur frowned. “Exorcism?”

She frowned in kind. “They haven’t possessed anyone.”

“Right.”

“I assume they cannot simply be killed again?” Leon spoke.

“Not by any mortal means, no,” Gwenhwyfar said – then smirked. “There is only one thing that can kill what is already dead.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows expectantly.

She tapped the hilt of the sword at her back.

“It can do that?” he let out, just as Guinevere asked, “Is that because it was forged in a dragon’s breath?”

Forged in a what?

“Does it _really_ have the power do that?” Merlin could be heard now, an odd sort of wonder in his voice.

Gwenhwyfar smiled. “If it will do your bidding.”

Arthur blinked. “It’s a sword.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“How can it…have a will of its own?”

Her mouth opened as if to explain it – then, by the look on her face, she seemed to decide he wouldn’t understand it if she did anyway.

“Let’s just say it is no ordinary blade,” she said. “But I do believe it is your only recourse now.”

Arthur sobered. “Then I must ask you to help me,” he said.

She said nothing, not to agree or refuse, chewing on her lip; Guenevere looked like she might be chewing on her very _tongue_ to keep it from running away from her.

“I know it is a lot to ask,” he added. “Even more so after I’ve accused you of lying and – obviously, you don’t think too highly of me, but…surely, you’re convinced of Guinevere’s good heart by now. And if your blade is the only thing that will save her, then I must ask for your help nonetheless.”

He waited for her answer, watching the expressions on her face change, from sympathy to conflict and back again; watching Guenevere close her eyes, as if in prayer that she would just say ‘no’.

But in the end, what she said was, “I’ll do it. I’ll help you.”

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief.

Guenevere muttered, “Yes, my husband’s the one who’s going to keep us here.”

“Surely, we will settle this quickly,” Gwenhwyfar said; Guenevere twisted around to face her.

“I do not understand you,” she said. “Just hours ago, you were so eager to leave, for fear of getting caught in the middle of this – for fear that your people will think you dead. And now you’re eager to _stay_ and prolong their suffering?”

Gwenhwyfar’s mouth thinned. Lowering her voice, she said, “And if I have the chance to spare others _here_ that same suffering but don’t, then what does that make me?”

Guenevere gave a quiet sigh, and turned to look across the table again. Arthur’s contempt must have shown on his face, because her brow creased in a frown.

“You must believe I hope no harm comes to anyone here – least of all you, Guinevere,” she said. “If anything, I would be saddened if it does. But _I_ do not believe it is my place to try and change the fate of this world.”

Guinevere nodded. “I understand.”

“Then I hope you can also understand that I must think of myself first. Of my world, my kingdom, my husband, my daughter – ”

Arthur nearly fell out of his chair. “Your what now?”

Evidently, Gwenhwyfar was just as surprised as he. “You have a _child?”_

Guenevere’s head snapped from one to the other. “Yes, I…have a…daughter.”

Gwenhwyfar’s mouth was hanging open. “How did I not know about this?”

“She…is still very little,” Guenevere said. “I didn’t even know I was with child last time I saw you.” There, like she couldn’t quite help it, her mouth turned up in a smile, and she added, “She looks a lot like me.”

Gwenhwyfar chuckled. “Oh, that is going to be one spoiled princess.”

Arthur, for his part, was frozen, his every other thought coming to a screeching halt.

A child. She had a…child.

_Children._

It took him a while to realize that time had passed and conversation had changed, to Leon wondering about the tournament.

“Should we cancel it, sire?”

“Um – ” Arthur cleared his throat. “No, to cancel it would invite too many questions. We must keep up appearances still, and it would be unwise for word to spread that we have a…ghost…assassin, in Camelot.”

He turned to Gwenhwyfar. “Your…powder, would it work on the jousting grounds, too?”

“Yes.”

“Good, right. Merlin – ”

“I’m fetching, I’m fetching,” Merlin muttered, already out the door.

“Once it is ready, have the knights cast it around the grounds,” he ordered Leon. He looked to Guinevere before adding, “Tell no one else what it’s really for.”

Guinevere nodded her agreement.

He kept his eyes only on hers even as Leon took his orders with a, _“sire,”_ and followed Merlin out.

She was remarkably calm in the face of this threat, the weight of it never once putting a dent in the set of her shoulders. He admired her strength at times like these, too.

“Gaius, that potion you spoke of…”

With a scrape of his chair, Gaius got to his feet and followed the order without a word; Gwenhwyfar and Guenevere moved further down the quarters without ever being prompted.

Now that they were as alone as could be, he took both of Guinevere’s hands in his.

“Nothing will happen to you,” he said. “I promise.”

“I know.”

He searched her face for any sign that she might be lying just to make him feel better, but though her eyes were grave, they showed no fear.

“If you want to tell Elyan,” he began, but she shook her head.

“It’s important that this be kept as quiet as possible, and Elyan is…not that.”

“Still, I understand if you want to count on your brother’s protection, too.”

“I fear that if I told him about this, he’d only cause more trouble in trying to do so.”

Despite himself, Arthur smiled.

“Well, have _no_ fear,” he said, squeezing her hands. “We will find this ghost and destroy it. Morgana will not succeed.”

Even as the reassurance passed his lips, his mind was filled with sayings of third times being the charm.

(If there were only three.)

Guinevere’s bottom lip dipped, expression growing a bit pinched. “Do you not wonder how she knew?”

“Knew what?”

“That we were getting married.”

He frowned. “It…could be a coincidence that she chose to strike now.”

“Do you really believe that?”

_No._ “Then I must believe that someone told her about it.”

Teeth sinking into her lip, Guinevere nodded. “Perhaps the traitor you’ve long suspected to be in Camelot. Perhaps it was also he who aided the assassin.”

Arthur hung his head.

He’d suspected just about everyone to be this traitor once, from his men to Gaius to his uncle, a doubt that he hated to carry. And it began to creep up on him again now.

“Only the knights knew where we were,” he said, quickly glancing to the side and back. “And them.”

“The assassin could have followed us to the picnic,” Guinevere dismissed. “It could even be that he was confused by the three of us and that it made him fail. But before that, someone had to have shown him around Camelot, pointed… _me_ out to him.”

Terrible images crossed his mind again, of there being no one to cut down the spear, to knock down the sword; of them sailing past to strike Guinevere. Again, and again, he saw himself hold her, his hands red with her blood.

A new image came to torment him, of returning to Camelot only to have someone tell him that she was gone; of lifting a sheet to find her face covered in ice, her eyes cold and empty staring back at him.

His fingers tightened around hers involuntarily. But he only said, “You’re right.”

“And perhaps, in time,” she hedged, “there will be a way to draw him out?”

Arthur nodded.

But with doubt gnawing at him, his eyes inevitably went to the two by the window. “You trust _their_ intentions?”

“I think, Gwenhwyfar at least has proved herself.”

“It’s not her I worry about,” Arthur muttered, sighing. “You were right about her, too. You’re very different.”

The corner of her mouth quirking into a faint smile, Guinevere quietly said, “I think I would’ve done the same, actually.”

It couldn’t be what she meant, but striving to get a full smile out of her, Arthur said, “I know Geoffrey can be difficult, but that’s a bit harsh.”

It worked, if only for a little while.

“I don’t believe for a moment that she was only bored,” Guinevere said. “If she was looking through the books, I have to assume it was to try and find a way home.” Shrugging, she added, “I don’t think I would’ve done any different in her place, really.”

Arthur bit his lip. “I don’t think she could have learned magic from any books here.”

“No, but her husband doesn’t wield it himself to do this sort of thing either.”

“Right…and if whoever comes with him is known to her…”

“Then it might also be who she would seek out here to do her bidding,” Guinevere concluded simply. “And if it is so, then her husband’s companion might at the very least reveal the identity of a sorcerer we may have in our midst.”

She just had this way of seeing things.

He marveled at it, really.

Her brow creased as she went on, though. “She was dishonest, but I don’t believe that makes her duplicitous, only wary of an unfamiliar place. Besides…I imagine that just sitting around waiting like this is even harder for a mother.”

Yet a new image came to his mind now, of being told the same thing his father had been of his mother, that sorcery had taken her before their child had even opened his eyes. Of having to watch him grow to bear her likeness, when –

“Are you alright?”

“Um, wha – yes.” He rubbed his forehead.

He had to put it from his mind.

Affecting a brave face, he said, “I’m sorry. It’s just a lot to worry about it, is all.”

Guinevere nodded in sympathy, rubbing her lips together.

He hated to grieve her further still as he said, “You can’t stay in your home tonight. It’s too dangerous.”

Her face fell – a stab to his heart –, but she shrugged it off. “I understand.”

“I’ll have Merlin arrange quarters for you next to mine,” he promised. “I’ll be just a door away if you need me, and…you’ll have a guard.”

“By guard,” she said, “you mean _her._ ” She nodded to the window.

“She is the only one who has a weapon that will ensure your safety.”

Guinevere sighed softly.

“I’m sure you’ll find plenty to talk about,” he reassured.

She raised an eyebrow. “She and I have even less in common than Her Majesty and I do.”

The way she spoke the title made him bite back a snort. Then he grappled for anything that would disprove the statement – and couldn’t really think of anything.

Guinevere deadpanned, “Perhaps we’ll have riveting discussions about armor.”

Now he did snort, and quickly tried to cover it with a cough.

“You could make even such a topic interesting,” he declared.

She was the one to laugh this time, a soft and lovely sound, like she thought him silly for saying it, but it was the most beautiful thing he’d heard all day.

Resolved to enjoy it while it lasted, he bent to press a kiss to her smiling lips.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“She unleashed the Dorocha!”

“Just because _you_ wouldn’t do it…”

“But to have such little regard for the balance of the world – ”

“Now you care for the balance of things again?”

Gwenhwyfar pursed her lips, looking away. Her eyes fell upon Arthur and Guinevere, hands joined by the table, talking softly enough that they could not be heard.

“To even visit other worlds defies the way of things, the very laws of nature, to partake in them – ”

“Alright,” she interrupted pointedly, to be met with Guenevere’s raised eyebrow.

She cast her eyes to the window, dragging her finger through the protection she had blown along the sill.

“You speak of meddling in another’s fate,” she said. “But what if it is our own fates that have brought us here – ” her finger drew still; one leg, another – “what if there is a reason that Emrys has brought us to this place, at this time? What if it is by design – ” the third – “that your husband was late enough that we have ended up in the middle of this despite our wishes?”

She blew out a breath, and the triskelion disappeared.

“No one, no matter how great, can know their destiny,” she said. “We only understand the meaning of our journey at the end. So who’s to say, that this one act of kindness is not part of mine?”

Guenevere chuckled.

“You pretend to be hard,” she said, “but you’ve got the softest heart of us all.”

She might have thought it an insult, if not for the gentle look in Guenevere’s eyes.

“No one could ever accuse you of the same,” she remarked, though softly.

“Perhaps not,” Guenevere allowed. “But I don’t for a moment hope that Morgana will succeed.”

_Morgana._

She had wondered about her, about what circumstances had made of her here. Morgaine, as she knew her, was her father’s daughter, cold and ruthless. But even she never usurped the dead.

She wondered what Guenevere thought of her, too, what label she would give her when she inscribed her in that library of hers.

“Is she like many others you have met?”

Guenevere sighed. “Most, actually.”

Gwenhwyfar cocked her head. “And it never makes you doubt yours?”

From the little tick of Guenevere’s chin, she thought she might have struck a nerve.

“She is no more the Morgana of this world than I am Guinevere.”

“But?”

Guenevere sighed, looking out the window.

“I’ve no reason to doubt her,” she said. “It’s just that sometimes, I wonder if she is all that she seems. Perhaps because I cannot understand why…a woman would forsake her rightful place upon the throne so easily.”

Gwenhwyfar smirked. “Just because _you_ wouldn’t do it…”

It earned her a little sideways glance, and a smile just at the corner of her mouth.

Looking at her standing in the sunlight now, with her pretty dress and the sea diamonds in her hair, Gwenhwyfar had no doubt she would have been every bit the queen her Morgana had refused to be, given the chance.

But perhaps different in one way.

“I’m sorry,” she spoke, maybe a little too quickly; Guenevere frowned. “That I…thought of you as a coward throughout this. I didn’t know you had a child to think of.”

Guenevere’s expression cleared. “She is safe, no matter what befalls me,” she said. “I know that.”

“Would be terrible for her to grow up without a mother, though,” Gwenhwyfar commented.

Guenevere agreed with a quiet hum, eyes going across the room. They narrowed the longer she looked, lips pursed in thought.

“I’ve not heard a whisper about Ygraine here,” she said.

“So?”

“But Agravaine is at court.”

Gwenhwyfar racked her brain. Agravaine – Igraine’s brother who had ingloriously died from being frightened by a sparrow and falling into a ditch when Arthur was a child.

Not here, though, evidently.

“Right, and if they’re not here together – ”

“It’s probably because she’s dead,” Guenevere concluded.

“Could be more complicated. Perhaps she left or…betrayed someone here and was forced to leave.”

Guenevere gave a single nod to the side. “He wears her ring.”

Dead it was, then.

“Why does it matter?”

“I saw him. Agravaine,” Guenevere said. “He is…strange, here.”

“You think he’s…involved in this somehow?”

“Perhaps.”

Gwenhwyfar clucked her tongue. “I don’t suppose you want to say anything about this either?”

“Accusing a king’s family of treachery is more delicate than telling him someone’s trying to kill his future wife.”

Could it still be said, Gwenhwyfar wondered, of one who had so quickly given up his pride to try and protect her life?

“Maybe not for this one.”

After a moment, Guenevere asked, ever-curious, “Can you really see yours in him?”

By the table, Arthur bent his head, to press a soft kiss to Guinevere’s lips.

Gwenhwyfar sighed.

“Perhaps only a little.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Victory was tasteless.

He had been so looking forward to this tournament, and now he only looked forward to it to end. His eyes strayed to Guinevere often, not see if she was enjoying herself, only to make sure nothing terrible had befallen her, a last warning from Gwenhwyfar echoing in his ears.

_The ghost will grow stronger yet,_ she had said. _Soon, there will be no limits to what they can do._

Merlin had been right. He should have just given Guinevere flowers.

Cheers erupted for Sir Percival as he held up his lance to the crowd while Arthur dragged himself off to the tents, where Merlin stood waiting. His expression betrayed him entirely.

“This is no time to say ‘I told you so’,” Arthur warned.

“I wasn’t going to.”

He didn’t believe that for a second.

Grabbing a goblet from Merlin’s hand, his eyes inevitably went to Guinevere again. Sitting alone up in the lodge, she seemed so terribly unprotected now. Funny, considering what he had meant to show her with this tournament. And yet for all the men impressing their strength upon her now, all that stood between her and peril was some salt and flower they had spread around her and the people – a senseless sight that no one else in Camelot would ever hope to understand.

Her words never left him either. That something must have urged Morgana to act now, that someone had to have told her of their wedding; perhaps the traitor he had long suspected existed in Camelot.

Suspicion weighed heavy on him again now, split between every face in the crowd, both the present and the absent.

Merlin, probably, was the only one among them he wouldn’t suspect to be duplicitous.

“Why would Morgana do this?” he asked quietly. “Guinevere doesn’t have a bad bone in her body. It makes no sense to want to harm her.”

Merlin took a moment to reply. “I don’t think any of us can hope to understand Morgana anymore.”

Arthur nodded, though it brought him no answers.

With a sigh, he finished off his water and thrust the cup back at Merlin, moving to his tent.

He lifted the flap, and found himself staring at his own reflection.

His double gave a tight-lipped smile.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where I could find my wife, would you?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suffice it to say that I've forgotten my original outline for this story by now, so idk who knows what's gonna happen next folks but it ain't me.

She stared into the flames, only barely listening to Agravaine’s grievances.

_“You’ve sent him to kill Guinevere and he’s done little more than embarrass her,”_ he would say.

_“He will grow stronger yet,”_ she’d reply.

_“It is inconceivable that you would need to resort to him for help!”_ he’d cry.

She would only say, _“It is necessary.”_

He spoke more but Morgana hardly heard it, watching the flames lick at the wood beneath the cauldron.

She’d had a dream – of holding a small child in her arms, of singing her incantations of the Old Religion as if they were lullabies, in a place that she had never known, bright and beautiful – and woken with a sadness she could not explain.

It was the child’s eyes that stayed with her now, big and brown but honey-like in the sunlight, and she swore she had looked into them a thousand times before. It could not be but it had felt like foretelling the future, just as real as Emrys condemning her on the battlefield of a war yet to happen…or Gwen taking her place upon the throne.

Agravaine asked, yet again, “Is there not another way?”

She looked to him sharply. “Do you not see how perfect this plan is?” she snapped. “I alone have power over Uther now. No one can stop him – not Arthur, not Emrys. She will die before the day is done.” She cocked her head, eyes narrowed. “Or have you grown fond of her?”

He shook his head immediately. “No, my lady,” he denied. “I would end her life myself without a second thought. It is only the thought of Uther that troubles me.” His mouth twisted. “Was it hard to convince him to do this?”

She almost laughed. “Not in the slightest. He despises the thought of Arthur marrying a serving girl. He always valued his legacy above all else.”

“Yes,” Agravaine agreed tightly. “It is the reason Ygraine is dead.”

He looked away, somewhere off to the jars that lined her shelves. Never once meeting her eyes, he said, “My brother haunts me in my dreams. He condemns me for letting Uther sacrifice this girl for his legacy like he did our sister.”

He gave a single, mirthless chuckle. “He was always so righteous.”

Morgana really didn’t see why he expected her to care about that.

Still, she stepped closer and said, “It is painful but it _is_ necessary. But once it is done, I promise you,” she added, “that before I send Uther back, I will make sure that his spirit is cursed forever. That he will spend eternity in agony.”

Agravaine smiled slowly, nodding. It was pitiful, really, how easily she could sway the man.

_She will die before the day is done,_ she reminded herself and she smiled in kind, the corner of her mouth twisting with it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He never knew that Guenevere could even _make_ such a strong sound.

Somewhere between a gasp and a cry of joy, it left her throat the moment her husband came into the room, picking up her skirts to run to him just as he went to her. They met in the middle, arms going around each other so strongly that her feet left the ground from the force of it.

Merlin grinned at the sight and Guinevere chuckled, as Arthur shut the door behind them; it bounced off the frame and hit him in the rear.

Even doors conspired against him now. _Brilliant._

Guenevere was nodding at whatever her husband was asking, sometimes whispering things in return; he took her face in his hands and pressed a sound kiss to her lips for all to see.

Arthur looked away from propriety’s sake when it grew a little too long, and caught Guinevere’s eye as she did the same. Merlin, naturally, just kept looking on.

It was only after he parted from his wife that their new guest seemed to take an interest in his surroundings.

“Gwenhwyfar!” he let out.

“My lord,” she deadpanned.

He positively beamed. “How’ve you been?”

“Splendid.”

He bit his lip, leaning into Guenevere. “You’ve spent all this time with her?”

“Yes,” she said, long-suffering. He seemed to find it terribly amusing.

Still with his arm around her, he looked over the rest of them, and finally, Arthur understood how strange this had been for Guinevere.

Never had he been more aware of his face, his body – his voice, even – than when they stared back at him like this, only slightly altered by a short beard and longer hair, armor polished beyond anything Merlin had ever managed to achieve, with a dragon cast in gold upon the breastplate – and something just a little too cheerful in the way that he spoke.

It was still in his voice as he said, “I must thank you. For keeping my wife safe.”

In her tales, Guenevere had apparently not mentioned his interrogation of her. A small kindness Arthur appreciated, as he really did not need to start a quarrel with himself on top of everything else right now.

“Though I do not understand why – ”

Guenevere leaned to whisper more in his ear. His eyebrows went up and down with it, grimaces coming and going, and at seeing what his face actually looked like doing that, Arthur decided then and there that he was going to spend the rest of his life entirely expressionless.

In the end, the only comment they received on it all was, “I see.”

“My lord,” Guinevere spoke, a deepness to her voice (forgetting his earlier vow, Arthur frowned at it), “we were told that you would not come alone.”

That was a very good point, actually.

Guenevere looked very pointedly away as her husband put a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat, angling his head just so.

Arthur could not fathom why, until there suddenly appeared a figure where there used to be nothing at his side. He drew his sword without even thinking.

Guinevere gasped.

Merlin wheezed.

Arthur spat, “You.”

The sorcerer grimaced at him, his beard shaking from it.

His _king_ only looked put-upon. Glibly, he said, “Calm yourself, please.”

“He killed my father!” Arthur reeled, raising his sword in accusation. His hand shook around it, as looks he couldn’t comprehend settled on all their faces, his rage blinding him to all else.

“Arthur,” Guinevere’s voice pierced through, her presence closer at his side. “It wasn’t him. He only bore his likeness. Please.”

His blade lowered under her words as surely as it would have under her hand upon his arm. He took a deep breath to calm himself – though he could still not find the will to look the man in the eye.

“Forgive me,” he spoke to the floor instead, “I acted without thinking.”

“That’s alright,” his own voice spoke back at him. “I knew he probably wasn’t…welcome here. It’s why I had him cloak himself – make himself invisible, you understand. I mean, three different men screamed at sight of him on our way here.”

Arthur nearly wept. “You were _seen?”_

“Oh, don’t worry. He erased their memories.”

It seemed he would quarrel with himself after all. “You used magic on my people?”

He received a scowl in return. “It was one of yours who took my wife without warning. I will _not_ apologize for what I’ve done to find her. Whatever your laws may be.”

A tense silence followed, as Arthur chewed on his tongue and his double glared.

_“Dragoon?!”_ the sorcerer burst out suddenly, whirling on Gwenhwyfar. She looked like she was desperately trying not to laugh.

“Which is…my name.” He turned back to them, nodding firmly. “Yes, that is me. I am Dragoon. The Great.”

Arthur sighed.

Why were sorcerers like this?

“Well, then,” _Dragoon_ went on after a moment, “I think we’ve said all we’ve needed to say here. Perhaps it’s time for us to leave.” He threw a pointed look at his king there, and though the latter looked like he wanted to argue, he gave in.

“You’re probably right,” he said. “So, then, I…I am sorry for any trouble we may have caused. It wasn’t anyone’s intention to do harm.” He nodded, looking over his shoulder. “I assume you need some help getting home, Commander?”

Gwenhwyfar pursed her lips. “I’ll actually be staying for a while, Your Highness.”

Arthur really wished he didn’t know what his face looked like when his eyes bulged that far out of his head.

“ _You_ wish to stay here?”

“I am needed here at the moment.”

“What?”

“It’s about the Guinevere of this world,” she said, nodding in her direction. “Someone’s trying to kill her, you see.”

In hindsight, the loud declaration of, “Well then we must stay and help as well!” that followed it was, probably, to be entirely expected. Arthur considered the polite thing to do would have been to ask if they actually wanted his help first.

Dragoon reacted to it in no way, only taking on the vacant air of a man who had long ago decided to just take his misfortunes in stride. Guenevere shook her head only slightly, the faint shadow of a smile on her lips.

“My love – ”

“It’s alright,” she staved off her husband’s arguments, casting a look to Gwenhwyfar before adding, “I knew you would say that.”

He put his hands on her shoulders. “You don’t have to stay. Me – Em – _Dragoon,_ will take you home. I will join you when it is over.”

Arthur thought for sure that she would jump at the opportunity. But she hesitated, chewing on her lip, and the time for surprises continued when she raised her chin and proudly decided, “I will stay.”

This number of helping hands would amount to nothing short of a disaster, in Arthur’s opinion. But the hilt of the sword hanging from his double’s belt shone suspiciously like the one strapped to Gwenhwyfar’s back, and so he held his tongue.

Then chewed on it when his double, after having kissed his wife’s forehead, turned to Guinevere.

“Have no fear, my lady,” he said. “Whoever’s trying to do you harm won’t stand a chance against all of us.”

“Oh, I…” Why was she so flustered? “I’m – I’m not quite yet. A lady, I mean. Our wedding’s the day after tomorrow.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“But if you don’t mind me asking…if you have no title yet, I take it that means you are of the people?”

Guinevere smiled. “Yes,” she said. “I am the daughter of a blacksmith.”

He grinned _._ “That’s brilliant!”

Guinevere laughed lightly. Arthur grimaced.

“And you know it reminds me, I once you knew you as an assassin – ”

_Oh, God._

“And you would forge your own weapons so that you could hide them in your clothes and jewels. It was ingenious, really. In fact, you showed me a dagger that you had made out of a comb. I’d never seen craftsmanship like that. And actually, you’d been sent to kill _me_ with it. Well…” He chuckled. “The me of that world, obviously.”

“Um…”

“Oh, don’t worry, all was well in the end. We ended up falling in love.”

“That’s…lovely.”

“I think so.”

Arthur found himself shaking his head as one with Guenevere.

“Only you would tell that story to a woman who has an assassin after her at this very moment,” Gwenhwyfar commented.

He at least looked contrite at his blunder. “Forgive me if I’ve upset you.”

“No, it’s alright,” Guinevere dismissed. “It’s…an interesting story.”

“Oh, well, I’ve got plenty of those – ”

“Perhaps,” Guenevere interrupted gently, “we should rather discuss how we’re going to help in this matter. And then we can leave Guinevere to think on her wedding in peace.” It was probably the most subtle way Arthur had ever heard anyone say, _“We’re not truly welcome here.”_

Her husband seemed to have caught her meaning, nodding. “Of course. If you don’t mind me asking, though…who is it that’s after you?”

Guinevere swallowed. “Morgana Pendragon.”

He clucked his tongue. “I see,” he said, lips pressing together like they were holding back a sigh. “It’s a good job I didn’t come here with her then.”

“Come here with her?” Arthur let out.

“No one knows more about the magic that binds the different worlds…than my sister.”

The way he said it, so simple and kind, made something seize violently in Arthur’s chest. “She knows much about magic here, too,” he said. “Except she’s only ever used it against me.”

“I’ve got plenty of stories like that, too.”

“Mm.” Arthur busied himself with sheathing his sword for a moment, before he cleared his throat. “I can’t imagine why, but she means Guinevere harm. She sent an assassin after her, and when that failed, she…summoned…a ghost, to do the job.”

“A ghost?”

“We don’t know who it is,” Gwenhwyfar supplied. “Only that they are violent.”

“Is there a way to banish them back to the spirit world?”

“Not likely,” she said, then shrugged. “We thought to just destroy them, really.”

He understood her perfectly, it seemed, for he merely grinned and reached for his own sword, and Arthur’s instincts were proved right when he drew it out, golden and engraved just the same as Gwenhwyfar’s. “I think we can manage that, between the two of us.”

Arthur cocked his head. “Where might I get one of those?”

“Have you tried the lake of Avalon?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“Well – ”

“We cannot destroy it unless we find it,” Dragoon spoke up. “And we cannot find it unless we can see it.”

Wishing he could still not see _him,_ Arthur said, “My physician is working on a potion for that purpose.”

“Good. I propose we put it to the test come nightfall. It will be easier to search this place under the cover of darkness.”

“And if we split up,” Gwenhwyfar added, “we might have a better chance at finding them. And then, when we know who it truly is, we might know how best to lure them into a trap later.”

Arthur nodded.

Should be fun.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Nightfall saw Merlin biting at his nails as his eyes bounced from one group to the second to the third, all broken off into different corners – all the while trying to silently plead with his double not to accidentally expose and get him burnt at the stake. Well no, Arthur didn’t favor that sort of thing. So it would probably just be the noose, then.

Gwenhwyfar had refused to keep being the middle man of their conversations, though her laughter still sometimes echoed in his head _(“Emrys, honestly…Dragoon?”)._ But he would admit that he wasn’t too keen to keep it up either, not after she began asking why Arthur thought he was the one who’d killed his father.

She was off circling the table in these chambers he’d set up for Gwen, every now and again casting glances at Arthur’s double. Merlin thought there was perhaps a hint of envy in her eyes, that he would get to go off searching for the ghost while she had to stay behind and guard Gwen.

But Arthur – his Arthur, had asked it of her in such a heartfelt way that she probably didn’t have it in her to refuse.

He stood to the side with Gwen now, talking to her in whispers. Merlin decided to focus on that, if only just to avoid Gaius’s judging eyes boring into him from the table. It was remarkable how strongly he managed to convey, _“Do you see what you’ve done now?”_ without uttering a single word.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful,” Arthur said.

Gwen’s smile was short-lived. “I don’t like the thought of you alone with him.”

Him, of course, being _Dragoon,_ because Arthur insisted that, if they were going to split up, he would be taking the sorcerer and Merlin would get his double. A brilliant plan, as Gwen saw it.

“Well, I can’t very well leave Merlin alone with him, can I? He’d never survive facing off against a sorcerer.” (Oh, the irony.)

“Do you suppose _you’ll_ have to face off against him?”

Arthur gave a tight sigh. “I can’t say that I trust him.”

“Then why accept his help in the first place?”

“There isn’t anything I would not do for you,” Arthur said simply.

Her eyes softened. “I don’t want you to put yourself through this because of me.”

Arthur picked up on the unspoken part of it. “I know he’s not the one who killed my father.” (Merlin flinched.)

“It’s not always easy to remember it,” Gwen said. “Not when he looks exactly like him.”

“Hmm. Speaking of that,” Arthur said, “you seem quite taken with _my_ doppelganger.”

“He’s…sweet.”

“I rather think I can see exactly why Gwenhwyfar dislikes him.”

Gwen chuckled under her breath. “He’s not so bad.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows.

“Well, he looks like you,” Gwen teased, a twinkle in her eye, “I can’t help it.”

It had to be some kind of joke between them by the way they smiled at each other, and Arthur’s hand came up to cup Gwen’s cheek. Merlin smiled to himself.

Finding reasons to smile about got more difficult when the time came to take Gaius’s potion – which tasted suspiciously like horse dung –, but grew oddly easier as he found himself wandering the palace and dodging guards with Bearded Arthur.

The man wasn’t bad company – he’d agree with Gwen’s opinion of him, really. The more that he spoke – and speak, he did plenty – the more Merlin grew fond of him.

“So tell me again how your Arthur thinks you killed his father but doesn’t seem to know it was _actually_ you?”

Except he asked the same questions as Gwenhwyfar.

“It’s a long story,” Merlin deflected.

“Alright, but just tell me this,” Arthur asked. “Did he deserve it? Uther?”

Merlin started. “I…I didn’t mean to kill him.”

Nor had he meant to confess it. But it had come out all too easily in the face of _this_ Arthur, who never seemed to condemn him. Or have any great love for his father.

“He’s the reason magic is banned here,” his tongue loosened more, though he spoke quietly, “the reason I have to hide who I am. I...can’t deny that I wished he were gone a few times, just…not like this. I fear…” He swallowed. “I fear that in causing Uther’s death, I have forever destroyed any chance of returning magic to Camelot.”

“Prejudice runs deep,” Arthur agreed, “but there is always hope. Common sense and the desire for peace prevail more often than you’d think. Even now – ” he gestured around – “your king consorts with the likes of me and you and Gwenhwyfar – even if it does come from _need_ rather than reason. Who knows, perhaps you’ve given yourself the chance to undo the damage you have done. Even if it was quite by accident.”

Ah, yes. “I am sorry,” Merlin said. “For what I put you through. You seemed…upset, before you saw your wife again.”

“She was taken from me without warning once before.” Arthur’s eyes darkened, the cheer he carried in his every step dwindling. He seemed a different person for a moment, hard and unforgiving.

“But I don’t fault you for anything,” he turned back to himself just as quickly. “It was an accident. Guenevere said as much. But I still don’t understand…what were you trying to do?”

“I was trying to help Gwen.” Maybe if he said it enough, it would start making sense again.

“Obviously.”

“I mean – ” Merlin sighed, batting cobwebs out of their way. “I just wanted to give her a chance to prove herself. I thought she needed that. I wanted…to create a situation that would give it to her, I never meant to open doors to other _worlds_ – I didn’t even know they existed!” He huffed. “But I said the wrongs things, evidently, and now you’re all here. Gaius is _not_ pleased.”

Arthur laughed. “I imagine not. But maybe it _was_ fortunate. You may yet get to change views on magic. Gwenhwyfar’s presence was certainly invaluable from what I gather. And – ” he grinned – “you, quite by chance, kept your true nature hidden when you chose to do all this precisely when Morgana had cursed you to appear as an old man for a month.”

“Morgana?” A knot formed in Merlin’s chest.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “She wants to present some findings at the Witches’ Summit, you said they’ll laugh at her, so she called you a donkey, and then you said something about her hair, I don’t – ” He sighed. “You two exhaust me.”

The knot tightened. “Are we friends?”

“Not that either of you have ever admitted it but…yes.”

He painted such a world, where he and his kind walked free and without fear, where magic was a thing of beauty; where there were no secrets between them, and he and Morgana were enemies only for show.

_Was_ it really so fortunate, in the end, that he had gotten to hear about it?

Merlin could only think of saying, “That…sounds nice.”

“I take it you’ve fallen out here a long time ago?”

“Something like that.”

It earned him a look of sympathy. “It is what it is,” Arthur said. “But take heart, Merlin. The worlds are infinitely strange places. Anything can happen. And everything can change for the better.”

His optimism was infectious – and his thinking somehow familiar, though, perhaps, in an unlikely way. “You remind me of Gwen.”

Arthur grinned. “Yeah?”

“ _Yeah._ You’re more like her than _her_ doubles. Especially your wife. I mean,” he quickly backtracked, “not in a bad way, obviously. They’re just…different.”

“You mean, they’re different with _you,”_ Arthur remarked pointedly.

_Pretty much._ “I do get it. I _am_ a servant, it’s just…I’m not used to someone who looks like Gwen actually treating me as one.” It made him wonder, just briefly, if that was how it would be, when she was queen.

Arthur pursed his lips. “I know sometimes people think she’s cold.” He shook his head. “She isn’t. But she is _always_ careful. And you’re right, it is because you are a servant that she treats you as one. It would be strange, wouldn’t it, if a queen suddenly started treating a servant as if they were equals? Your people might start to wonder.” He shrugged. “If she treats you such, it is only to protect your secrets.”

Merlin blinked. “Oh.”

“Both she and Gwenhwyfar – and my Merlin, actually,” Arthur said, “like to pretend that it doesn’t affect them so much to meet other versions of those they care about. But they’re not immune to it. No one is. In the end, we care for them as we do for our own.”

Merlin considered that. “Does that mean Gwenhwyfar _hates_ you in her world?”

Arthur threw his head back, laughing. “Oh, Merlin…”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Gwenhwyfar had proposed a game.

Gwen didn’t quite grasp the rules of it, but it seemed to be the sort of thing she played with her army to make them forget their troubles, and involve lots of wine and the telling of embarrassing truths.

Which was how she had found herself confessing to once farting in front of the entire court.

And how she now found herself hearing Guenevere say, “Arthur and I were married for a half a year before we shared a night in bed.”

She choked on her drink.

Gwenhwyfar guffawed. “Is he _that_ inadequate?”

If her temper were different, Gwen surmised Guenevere would have flung her cup at her.

“No!”

“All I’m saying is, if he can’t find a _tent,_ how can he be expected to find – ”

“Oh, will you stop it with the – ” Guenevere huffed.

“If you must know,” she said primly, “it was because of our circumstances. We only met days before our wedding. To me, it was how I’d expected to meet my husband, but the truth is, we were strangers to each other, which is…exactly how I acted towards him. And he said he couldn’t take a girl to bed when he didn’t know if she liked him, too.”

“Oh,” Gwen said.

“That is…actually rather sweet,” Gwenhwyfar admitted, pursing her lips.

Guenevere smiled in victory, tipping her cup. Evidently, the game dictated it was Gwenhwyfar’s turn to down hers. It was right up to her lips when she paused, cocking her head. “It took you _half a year_ to like him?”

Now it was Guenevere who stilled. She chewed on her lip, dragging her eyes from across the table to the head of it, beseeching.

“I do believe the rules say you must answer,” Gwen ruled. She didn’t actually know if that was true.

But Guenevere surrendered nevertheless, sighing softly. “You may find it hard to believe,” she said, “but I didn’t always think of him as I do now. When we first met, I thought him…” She struggled for the word, like it pained her to say it, and only managed to get it out after a deep breath, “Simple.”

She sighed again. “Unschooled in the way of kings. Tactless, and...incapable.” She met Gwenhwyfar’s eyes. “It took some time to…see that I was wrong.”

There was something just a little too familiar about that admission, and Gwen couldn’t help but smile to herself. Gwenhwyfar only knocked back a mighty gulp of her wine with a soft grunt.

Wiping her mouth, she said, “At least Guinevere here won’t have the same problem…I hope?”

Both pairs of eyes went to her expectantly. Blushing a little under the scrutiny, Gwen said, “No I don’t think so.” Perhaps it was the third cup she was nursing that loosened her tongue, but she added, “I’m rather looking forward to it, actually.”

At the others’ raised eyebrows, she sighed and said, “It’s just been so many years.”

Laughter erupted around the table – Gwenhwyfar was so amused, in fact, that she smacked her hand down upon it –, and Gwen was swept by it, too, giggling along.

Thinking of the responsibility she would carry these last few days had almost made her forget that she had just been a girl in love long before that, sometimes walking around with a broken heart from thinking it would never be, sometimes dreaming that it could.

It would be a shame, wouldn’t it, to die barely more than a day before it actually was?

She stared into the depths of the swirling wine, her good mood draining. She hadn’t even thought of speaking to Arthur of what would happen if they failed, but perhaps –

She started when Gwenhwyfar’s hand came to rest atop hers. “All will be well,” she said, as if she could read her very thoughts.

Gwen smiled wanly. “I know. It’s just…hard not to think about it, is all.”

“It is not unwise to,” Guenevere said. “Whatever the extent of her power, a queen must always think as her king does. And wonder what the consequences will be if she is gone.”

Gwen nodded – and didn’t say aloud that she wished _Arthur_ actually thought that way more often, too.

“Think about dying a lot, do you?” Gwenhwyfar asked.

Guenevere only challenged, “Don’t you?”

“Far more often than you, I’d wager,” was Gwenhwyfar’s reply.

“Well, at least after this,” Guenevere said, “you won’t have to wonder how it affects the prince anymore.”

It wasn’t spoken cruelly but, to Gwen’s surprise, Gwenhwyfar’s eyes suddenly seemed wet in the candlelight. She slunk back in her chair, muttering, “It’s like you said…he will see me again soon. Besides, he’s clever, surely by now he’s realized that I haven’t died.”

“I do not think that changes the way your absence feels for him now, though.”

Gwenhwyfar huffed, snapping, “Do you _enjoy_ wounding me?”

Guenevere shook her head, lips pressed together. “No.”

Gwen looked between them, frowning. “Forgive me, I don’t understand…what…”

“We share a bond,” Gwenhwyfar said. “It is…an ancient rite, between a warrior and their liege, in the old days, um…” She cleared her throat. “It was done for surety, so that…the warrior might sense the other’s distress, where they were, if…something had happened to them.”

One of her fingers rose to trace the edges of her marking absentmindedly. “They would…take their mark and thus be bound forever. When I was torn from my world, it must have” – she swallowed – “felt as if I had died. To him.”

A terrible feeling, Gwen surmised. “You…felt his distress at realizing it?”

“No.” Gwenhwyfar shook her head. “I can only imagine.”

“But you said,” Gwen tried to work out the logistics of this, “that it was the warrior who took their liege’s mark, so surely it goes both ways if he can also – ”

“He did it for me,” Gwenhwyfar interrupted, barely above a whisper.

_Oh._

“That…seems like a great commitment. From a prince.”

Gwenhwyfar looked everywhere but at them, mumbling, “I am important to the endeavor.”

“To the endeavor or to his heart?” Guenevere challenged.

“It does sound to me,” Gwen agreed, “like he cares a great deal about you.”

Gwenhwyfar fidgeted. “Can we discuss something else?”

“Oh, no,” Guenevere refused. “I believe it is _my_ turn to ask questions now. So answer me this: do you not think about him?”

It was a revelation, really, to see Gwenhwyfar’s expression morph into one of a doe caught between two hunters; unbefitting, of someone who was always so certain of everything.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said.

“You’ve said yourself that you wonder – ”

“I told you to forget about that.”

“To hear you say such a thing is too striking to forget,” Guenevere pressed – quite courageous of her, Gwen thought, to keep testing her luck like this, for a woman who cowered before most things.

She hardly followed the events they referenced; but some things were easy enough to understand.

“What you describe,” she said, “are hardly the actions of a man who does not feel the same way about you.”

It got Gwenhwyfar to look at her at least . “My feelings do not matter,” she said, “any more than his do. He will do what is best for Camelot.”

“How do you know that’s not you?”

“You’ve said yourself,” Guenevere chimed in immediately, “that we cannot know the meaning of our journey until the end of it. So how do you know that being queen is not part of yours?”

Gwenhwyfar’s eyes shut at the mention of the title alone, her expression pained. “There is a difference, between wondering what you will become and knowing what you _cannot_ be.” She drew a ragged breath. “The simple truth of it is,” she said, “that one day, he will be king of Camelot – I will make sure of it. But I cannot be his queen.”

Gwen almost smiled at the familiarity of that, too.

“I once thought the same of myself,” she said, meeting Gwenhwyfar’s eyes again. “But I was wrong. There is always hope.”

“Right,” Gwenhwyfar said, “so…you have no worries? No doubts?”

It was as a bucket of ice water being dropped right on her head. “I cannot truly claim that,” Gwen confessed quietly.

“So you see,” Gwenhwyfar said, like they were in perfect understanding.

“So what will you do?” Gwen asked. “Stand by and watch him marry another?”

Gwenhwyfar shrugged. “I will fight beside him until he takes his rightful place upon the throne,” she said. “If I die in the effort, then so be it. If not…peace will be my reward.”

Well, then. They were in perfect understanding after all.

“I don’t believe that,” Guenevere declared.

Looking to her again, Gwenhwyfar’s mouth ticked up in the barest of smiles. Without any real heat behind it, she said, “I don’t care what you believe.”

Guenevere sighed. “Some from my world who have studied such things,” she began, “have said that for all the differences between us, all that which sets us apart, some things never change. That some lives…are always foretold only one way.”

She shrugged. “I believe, that no matter the world, no matter our circumstances, _we_ are always meant to be queens. We were born for it.”

_Only someone of noble birth would say that,_ Gwen thought, just as Gwenhwyfar said aloud, “ _You_ were born for it, _my lady.”_

Guenevere’s expression softened. “Just because you were not born _into_ it,” she said, “does not mean you were not born _for_ it.”

“And I know,” she went on before Gwenhwyfar could argue, “how much meaning your people put in each name they give their children. Do you really believe _you_ were born only for sacrifice?”

She never received an answer. With finality, Gwenhwyfar only said, “The time for your questions is over.”

“But we will need more of this,” she added, gesturing to the pitcher, and pushed away from the table to move towards the refreshments Merlin had set to refill it.

Gwen watched her go, frowning.

“Do not think I don’t understand her reticence.”

She blinked at Guenevere.

The latter offered her a faint smile. “It is a burden. To become what you were not taught to be. I’ve watched my husband struggle with it enough to know. I imagine – ” her tone turned more delicate – “that however well you hide it, you struggle with it, too. But it is a testament to your character – to your bravery, that you are not deterred by it.”

“Bravery?”

“It must have taken courage,” Guenevere said, “to have lived your life.”

Gwen had no idea what to say. She needn’t have looked for anything either, because Guenevere had already gone on, pensive now.

“The truth is, I look at you and I wonder about myself. Could I ever be so brave,” she wondered, “so as to be born one thing and boldly declare myself something else entirely?”

“I…I’m not sure it’s bold,” Gwen said.

“Well…it’s not _complacent.”_ She raised her cup to her at that, a touch of something bittersweet in her gestures.

Gwenhwyfar returned just in time to help her wash it away with more wine. Gwen surmised she had lingered away from them for so long only to calm herself.

And think on fresh topics for them to discuss. “Did I ever tell you about the time I came to the battlefield riding a dragon?”

It was thrilling tale – of a five-front war, intrigue and some mystery, unlikely alliances and golden beasts setting the ground on fire as the soldiers cried for victory. But Gwen listened to it only sporadically, eyes on Guenevere more often than not.

She spoke of being complacent somehow, of lacking bravery, but her confidence was strong – unshakeable, even. And so, at watching her, Gwen’s wine-addled mind swam again, with images of the two thrones already set below, and the same unanswered question.

_Do I belong here?_

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“You didn’t have to take me with you, you know. If you hate the sight of me so much.”

Arthur huffed. “And leave Merlin at your mercy?”

“I’m not sure you’ve spared him anything, really,” Dragoon said.

“Is my other self that insufferable?”

“That depends – does your Merlin like to talk?”

“Never shuts up.”

“Ah, he’ll be fine, then.” Dragoon picked up the ends of his robes to climb the staircase they had come upon then gave the steep steps a disdainful look, muttering, “Bloody Morgana, you say one thing about her hair looking like a bird’s nest…”

Arthur pulled short. “What?”

Breathing heavily just two steps in, Dragoon turned to him with a wry look. “She enchanted me with an aging spell for a month. I don’t usually look like this, you know.”

 That was…curious. “What do you usually look like?”

“I’m terribly handsome.”

Arthur pressed his lips together. “Right.”

Dragoon resumed their ascent without another word. They made it to the end in silence, with only Dragoon’s mutterings and wheezing to break it, until Arthur couldn’t help but ask, “So, you and Morgana, in your world, are you…friends?”

“Yes,” Dragoon grumbled. “Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

Arthur almost smiled. “So, she’s truly not an enemy of Camelot?”

“No. Not the Morgana I know.”

That had to be nice. “And uh, Camelot itself? Is it different where you’re from?”

“Quite.” Dragoon cast a look around. “Less dark and damp.”

“It’s nighttime!”

“Still.”

Arthur shook his head. “I meant the people, the court. From, um, what I understand,” he said quietly, “your Camelot has a princess now.”

A hint of a smile appeared beneath Dragoon’s beard. “Yes,” he said with affection. “She’s still very small, of course. Already looks just like her mother, though.” He chuckled. “The king says he’ll have a sword in her hand by the time she can walk. The queen thinks she should learn about politics instead.” There he paused, only to then turn to Arthur with the look of the most determined of men and declare, “I’ll teach her magic before Morgana does.”

Arthur’s chest tightened at the image of these four people, these strangers, speaking of magic of all things, as they crowded around this small child in its crib – and he had no idea why.

It must have shown on his face somehow, because Dragoon’s eyes bore into his now, a sort of understanding in them. “My advice, sire,” he said, “is that you do not think too long on what is and is not in other worlds. It makes you wonder too much. Your circumstances are what they are. Nothing I tell you changes that.”

“If you believe that,” Arthur said, a lump still in his throat, “then why do you accompany your king on his travels? From what Guenevere has said, he seeks to see other worlds, believes that doing so grants him some kind of knowledge.”

Dragoon sighed. “It is not what you learn, it is how you use it. If what he sees is a lesson in what to do or what not to, if it serves Camelot, then I am glad to accompany him on the journey. If it is just so he can risk his life because every Guenevere he meets reminds him of his wife…”

Arthur pursed his lips. “You didn’t have to agree to help. Neither did he. If you want to leave, leave. I can ensure Guinevere’s safety on my own.”

“Is that why you begged Gwenhwyfar to stay?”

Arthur scoffed. “Begged!”

“It sounded that way to me.”

“Well, maybe your hearing’s gone bad, old man.”

Dragoon wrinkled his nose. “Oh, that’s nice.”

Arthur sighed. “Sorry. I do appreciate the help you’ve all given me,” he said earnestly, “I just…” He rubbed his forehead. “Never thought this is how I’d be spending the days before my wedding, is all.”

“I understand that you worry,” Dragoon said. “How could I not? Everyone who has a heart understands love. Few can turn down a man who asks for something _out_ of love. Even the likes of Gwenhwyfar.”

There it was again, that way in which he said her name. “You don’t like her?”

Dragoon’s mouth twisted like he’d swallowed something bitter. “She’s so…righteous.”

“Well – ”

“I mean, honestly! She flies in to the battlefield on a dragon _once_ and suddenly, she’s better than everyone else!”

Arthur gaped.

“And alright, so she lands on top of a hill and then holds up her sword to be forged in the dragon’s breath for five different armies to see, but I mean, it was _one time!”_

Desperately trying not to laugh, Arthur said, “The way your king got _his_ blade wasn’t nearly as impressive, was it?”

Dragoon threw his hands up. “Fished it out of a lake!” he despaired. “Only three people saw!”

Arthur pressed a fist to his mouth to stifle his laughter when Dragoon’s indignation grew so great that it gave him a fit, making him gargle and wheeze like a cat trying to cough up a fur ball.

“Oh, just you laugh,” he grumbled. “What means did _you_ have to destroy this ghost again?”

_Really now._ “You know, I meant to ask,” Arthur said, “how is it that two different people from two different worlds can carry the exact same weapon?”

“You’ve just spent two days with three different versions of your future wife,” Dragoon deadpanned. “Nothing is one of a kind.”

“So it might exist here, too? Your Arthur said something about the lake of Avalon.”

“The lake of Avalon, a stone in a forest…the stomach of a magical cow.”

“What?”

“Don’t ask. The point is, yes, it might exist here,” Dragoon said. “It might be that it is yet to be forged. It might be that it never will. But even if it is to be found in this world, nothing guarantees _you_ will be able to wield it.”

“There isn’t a sword I can’t wield.”

“It’s not _just_ some sword any bumbling fool can take up!”

Arthur spluttered, “Bumb – bumbling – ”

“Do you suppose dragons just go around breathing on swords? No! Such a weapon is always made for a reason. And for a particular person. But then…” He sighed. “It is also true that it reflects their temperament. Say you have an open heart,” he proposed, “say you trust those around you, that you believe in the good of everyone – well then, just about _anyone_ could take up your blade and have it do their bidding. Say however, that you are righteous, and narrow-minded, and believe only you know best – ”

They were back to that, then. “So what you’re saying is, I could maybe take up your king’s sword to destroy this ghost, but I could never do the same with Gwenhwyfar’s?”

“Tried to pick it up once, just to read the runes,” Dragoon said with distaste. “Flew right out of my hand.”

Arthur distinctly remembered _Guinevere_ being able to hold it up without a problem, but decided against mentioning that. “Maybe there’s some wisdom in that.” He shrugged. “Keeps it from falling into the wrong hands.”

“Eh, maybe,” Dragoon admitted begrudgingly. “All I know is, there’s probably only one person in all the worlds who could wield her blade as his own, and that’s her beloved prince _._ ”

“He is the only person I’ve heard speak about _lovingly,_ ” Arthur agreed. “He must be a great man if he’s managed to impress _her.”_

“He’s alright,” Dragoon said, then winced. “Would not want to be in his place now, though.”

Arthur nodded. “He must worry.”

“It’s more than that. They’re bound, you see,” Dragoon said, stopping to examine a wall, “she and him. It’s an ancient rite from their world. When she was taken from it, he must have felt the same way he would if she had died.”

Arthur swallowed. “That’s terrible.”

“It is,” Dragoon agreed absently, eyes narrowed. “Weapons hung here, didn’t they?”

Arthur twisted around Dragoon to look at the spot. Come to think of it… “Yes.”

He held his torch closer and ran his hand over the place where two swords and a shield used to hang, the stone now cracked, as if the nails had been torn right from it with force. “That’s strange.”

“Not really.”

He frowned, turning to Dragoon, who only stared at a spot over his shoulder. Arthur spun around to follow his line of sight, the torch casting a glow to the end of the hallway and catching the glint of steel. The shadows parted, and he froze in the spot.

“Father.”


	7. Interlude 1: Guenevere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because the downside of coming up with backstories for your faves' doppelgangers is that you will inevitably want to write about them.

A goat herder.

He’d married her off to a goat herder!

The fates had conspired against her, given her a brother instead of a sister, and now _he_ sat pretty on the throne while _she_ was sent off _to marry_ _a goat herder._

Everything was goats with him. Goats, and sheep, and cows, and chickens. The man couldn’t talk about the strained relationships with the northern kingdoms without talking about how two of his black sheep had never gotten along with the rest; about levy routes without equating tax collection to putting your hand under a chicken to take its eggs every morning; or about military strategy without comparing advancing soldiers to a herd of cows running down a hill with their bells on. She doubted he would manage to get through their wedding vows without likening _her_ to a goat.

At least he was handsome. Though she would take a king with the face of a toad just for one chance at intelligent conversation.

But alas, it seemed she was doomed to only ever hear about how he had found the thief who had stolen his parents’ chickens by figuring out which dogs had barked the night of the theft. Because apparently different dogs barked at different people. A thrilling glimpse into the animal mind, really. Positively riveting.

Guenevere nearly wept for herself.

They strolled through the city now so that she may take in the sights of her new home. He hadn’t even offered her his arm to take.

“This spot is lovely,” he said, pausing by the parapet of the tallest tower of the castle and looking to the horizon. “You can see the whole kingdom from up here.”

Actually, it would take two days of riding at breakneck speed to cross the kingdom from border to border. So no, he could not see all of it from up here.

But she said, “It is beautiful, my lord.”

He cast her a sideways glance. “Is there really a need for such formality? You can just call me Arthur.”

“You are the king.”

His mouth twisted a little. “Right, but…I suppose I just…never imagined that when I got married, my wife would call me by my title instead of my name.”

She felt a pang of both sympathy and irritation. “It is a mark of respect.”

He cocked his head, a wan smile at the corner of his mouth. “I would take genuine dislike over feigned respect any day.”

“Feigned? I – I assure you – ”

“Come on,” he interrupted quietly. “I’m not actually an idiot. No one at court thinks I’m fit to be king. I don’t imagine you’d feel any differently.”

“I – ”

“The only one – ” he sighed – “who actually thinks I’m worth something is Merlin. I think. It’s hard to tell sometimes, he talks in riddles a lot. Then, there’s Morgana, but…I’m pretty sure it’s not so much that she likes me as it is that she’s just happy that my being here spares her from having to rule. Maybe Ygrai – my mother.” He shook his head, laughing under his breath. “I’m still not used to calling her that.”

_He’s too honest,_ was Guenevere’s first thought. Thinking as the future queen, her second one was, naturally, that it would be her job to protect him from it.

“It must have been hard,” she said, “to learn the truth of your birth. I can’t imagine.”

He laughed outright now. “That’s one way to put it. There I was, just tending to the crops – ” _as one does_ – “and then Merlin comes out of nowhere, says I’m the long-lost son of Uther Pendragon. Tells me the king is dead, drops to his knees in front of me and then it’s, ‘long live the king’. Thought he was one of the drunkards from the tavern, you know? Gone mad from the mead and all.”

Guenevere couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her, too. Arthur grinned.

“Not many kings can say that’s how they came to be one,” he said.

“Certainly the sort of thing that lives long in the minds of men,” she agreed.

He shrugged. “I’m not sure I care about that.”

Then why on Earth would a peasant boy want to be king, if not for the glory? “What do you care about?”

His eyes went back to the expanse that stretched below them, narrowed in thought. “I’ve had a sheltered life. I knew nothing of the world beyond my village, nothing of…life at court, of nobles and kings, only…only the struggles of the people. People like me, like my parents – ” He shook his head. “The ones who raised me anyway. They died.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. Illness had swept through the village and they were too old and weak and fight it so…The point is, I thought many times that, if we’d just had a physician – ” he met her eyes again – “someone who knew how to make a remedy, or knew the healing spells we needed, then…it could have saved their lives. And so many others.”

“Could you not have appealed to the king for help?”

“Uther never really cared. We were too far away for him to be concerned. As long as we didn’t rebel against him, he couldn’t care less of how we got by.”

He had no particular love for his father, then.

“But then Merlin came and I thought,” he went on, “maybe, if I was king, I could change that. If I had the power to make these decisions, I could…arrange for physicians to be trained here. I could send a healer to live in every outlying village. I could make life better for the people.”

Guenevere stared, unable to look away from him – and idly noticed, for the first time, how beautiful his eyes truly were.

Well, then. It seemed she was to be married off to a very _noble_ goat herder.

“Have you made any strides towards it?”

His smile was entirely self-depreciating. “Turns out your ideas are only as good as your knowledge of how to make them happen. Which…I do not have.” He sighed. “There’s too much else to be done, every day. My council thinks that it would take too many resources to put it in place, when there are much greater priorities. They know these things better than I do.”

_They take advantage of his inexperience._ “Whatever they know, you are the king. It is their duty to do as _you_ say, not the other way around.”

“I’m not that good at telling people what to do.”

“If you can order a flock of sheep about, surely you can do it with a few men?”

He blinked.

Guenevere blushed, mortified. “I mean – I’m not saying that they – are like sheep – or that you – ”

“I don’t think me yelling and waving a stick about would get _them_ to do what I want,” Arthur said, humor in his eyes.

“It – it might,” she said weakly.

He burst out laughing, throwing his head back and snorting. An entirely too unconstrained a display for a king, obviously, but the innocence of it was somehow endearing. Guenevere smiled.

“I’ll be sure to try that next time,” he said, grinning widely.

“I look forward to seeing it, my lord.”

“I just told you to call me Arthur – see, you won’t do what I say either!”

“Forgive me, my – Arthur.” She nodded. “Arthur.”

“That’s better.” He gave her a crooked grin. “ _Guenevere._ ”

Heat rose in her cheeks again, for entirely different reasons.

He had a good voice, she decided. Deep and strong, the sort of voice that could inspire armies and make his enemies cower, if he put it to such use. If he had the spine for it.

“I can see you have a good heart,” she said, “that you care for your people. But a good king knows when to show kindness and when to rule with a _strong_ hand.”

He frowned. “I’m not sure I’m capable of that.”

_Then you won’t last a year._ The meagre hope that had built in her died just as quickly. She _would_ marry a noble goat herder – one so noble, in fact, that a determined warlord would surely strike and dethrone him in a few months’ time. Lovely thing to look forward to.

“So, what about you?” he asked.

“What about me?”

“It can’t be easy for you either. To leave everything behind and come here. To leave your home.”

Her heart seized. “I always knew the day would come.”

“Does that really make it easier to bear when it does come?”

She looked away. In Cameliard, she had stood on top of towers such as this one too, that offered a view of planes and pastures as far as the eye could see, meadows and fields of flowers in colors of the rainbow. Now she saw mostly round hills and snow-covered mountains, a disjointed landscape without harmony.

“Camelot is my home now,” she said. “And I am happy to be here.”

“Right,” he said. “But still, I…I wouldn’t want you to long for anything.” He shrugged awkwardly. “If you want to spend time in your kingdom, or visit your brother…you can do it as often as you like. I won’t…try and keep you here all the time.”

Maybe there was something to be said of his kindness after all. “That’s very sweet of you.”

“It’s the least I can offer,” he dismissed. “I mean, you ask a girl you’ve never met to come here and marry you, leave everything behind. It’s the decent thing to do, isn’t it?”

They had entirely different ways of seeing things. But it was clear he was just as aware as she of why she was here – at the behest of his council, no doubt. She was the daughter of a great ruler, from a most noble family; she was here to give the peasant king legitimacy.

Not the sort of thing he was used to, she imagined. “You hoped to marry for love, didn’t you?”

He simply returned it with, “Doesn’t everyone?”

_Yes,_ she decided, _entirely different ways of seeing things._

“I hope,” he started, then paused, fumbling. “I hope…we can at least be friends?”

She smiled. “Of course.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Camelot _was_ beautiful.

The windows of the hall stretched to the high ceiling, bathing the room in light. White flowers teased her senses from every corner, lining the floors and the window sills, twisting in the women’s hair and around the men’s wrists.

Her feet sank into the carpet as she walked down the aisle, plush, red, and streaked with golden threads. Against the white flowers and stone walls and marble thrones, the red and gold stood out in a burst of color, drawing her eye. She barely resisted the urge to look down, to trace the lines with her eyes rather than her toes; lines woven in to show great golden dragons breathing fire upon symbols and letters, each chosen to represent a name of the Pendragon dynasty, from the days of the Old Kings all the way to King Arthur’s time. The moment the crown was laid upon her head, her name would be marked down in gold, too.

Arthur stood out, too, a swirl of red, silver and gold against Merlin’s plain white ceremonial robes. The dazed look on his face made Guenevere bite back a smile.

When she stepped up to the altar, Merlin had to nudge him to get him to hold his hands out to her. They were big and warm as they wrapped around hers – and maybe a touch clammy.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today,” Merlin began the ceremony, a speech Guenevere knew so well by now that that she could guess its flow just by the inflections of Merlin’s voice. The words faded to noise in her ears as she stood facing Arthur and resolutely stared at the tip of his nose.

All her life, she had known this moment would come. Where she would marry a man she hardly knew because it was best for her kingdom, for the land, for Albion; yet her heart was just about to beat out of her chest. Here the moment was, and it wasn’t any easier to bear.

Maybe her future husband was wise after all.

“Do any say nay?”

Part of her wished someone would.

There was gentle pressure on her hands that made her look up, meeting Arthur’s eyes. In an act of subtlety she had not thought him capable of, he shook his head from side to side the faintest bit, mouthing, _“You don’t have to.”_

Oddly, it calmed her like a charm. She smiled in reassurance, and held his gaze as Merlin called for their wedding bands to be brought up.

Some of her trepidation returned when Arthur picked up his and made to begin his vows.

“Guene – my lady – ”

Off to a good start.

“My lady, I stand here today before the Gods, your king, and my people,” he began in earnest, “to ask you to take me as your husband, to promise that…my heart and soul are yours, from this day until the end of my days. I shall not forsake you for any wonders of this world. I shall not – uh – ”

“Forget you,” Merlin whispered.

“Forget you, no matter the time we spend apart. I shall never take from you what I cannot give you in return. I swear to you now, upon my honor, that I, Arthur, king of Camelot, son of…Uther of the house of Pendragon, um, shall…”

“Always cherish.”

“Always cherish you above all others, all my riches and my glory, until death parts us. And even when it has so done, may we meet again in the next world, and stay there together ever after.”

“I am yours, my lady,” he said, “as I hope you will be mine.”

He slipped the band on her finger and held her hand up to his lips. His mouth was warm against her skin, his beard lightly scratching her knuckles. Her hand tingled when he drew back.

She avoided his gaze as she took hold of the second band.

“My lord, I stand here today before the Gods, my king, and your people,” she said, “to take you as my husband” – she swore Merlin sighed in relief – “as I long to be your wife, to promise you all that you have promised me. That my heart and soul are yours, from this day until the end of my days.

“I shall not forsake you for any wonders of this world. I shall not forget you no matter the time we spend apart. I shall never take from you what I cannot give you in return.”

She took a deep breath. “I swear to you now, upon my honor, that I, Guenevere, Princess of Cameliard, daughter of Thomas of the house of Leodogran, shall always cherish you above all others, all my riches and my glory, until death parts us. And even after it has so done, may we meet again in the next world, and stay there together ever after.”

“I am yours, my lord,” she said, “as you are mine.”

She slipped the band on his finger as he had on hers, and took his hand in both of hers to bring it to her lips. His breath caught.

“Then by the power vested in me,” Merlin stated, “I pronounce you husband and wife.”

The enormity of the moment struck her just as Arthur leaned in to kiss her. His mouth was warm against her lips just as it had been against her hand, and left them tingling just the same.

With her heart beating fast again, she only had enough presence of mind to steer Arthur by their joined hands and have them face their cheering audience.

Merlin raised a hand and they stopped, so that she and Arthur may take their seats on the thrones. The marble was cool against her back and thighs, sharpening her mind.

A page put Arthur’s crown on his head without fanfare before Merlin slid up to her side, an altogether different crown in his hands. Guenevere looked on straight ahead.

“By the power vested in me,” Merlin said anew, “I crown you Guenevere, queen of Camelot.”

Her eyes fluttered shut as the crown came to rest upon her head, her heartbeats steady now. It wasn’t her father’s crown. But it was better than nothing.

“Long live the king!” Merlin declared.

“Long live the king!” echoed the others.

“And long live the queen!”

She opened her eyes to see it come out of every mouth in attendance. Elyan’s, Leon’s, the king’s mother’s – those of knights and courtiers she had yet to meet. To her ears, it sounded like a song.

Glancing to the side, she saw Arthur’s mouth form the words, too.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Guenevere sat in the bed, dressed in her finest night clothes and smelling like all her best soaps, just twiddling her thumbs. She had prepared for this, read all the books there were on lying with men, and women, and those who called themselves neither – and none of them had spoken of waiting for your husband for so long that you fell asleep out of _boredom._

To keep a lady waiting thus was simply rude.

She would understand it if he’d had an urgent matter of state to attend to. But he wasn’t much of a king by his own admission, and his court was passed out drunk anyway. Perhaps _he_ was passed out in a hallway somewhere, too.

Finally, he came into view just as she was about to give up and give in – appearing neither drunk nor worried for the fate of the kingdom.

He paused at the foot of the bed, scratching at the back of his head. “I’ll just…go change, yeah?” He gestured around vaguely and disappeared behind the screen.

Guenevere waited for a servant to materialize from somewhere and follow him, then realized that, of course, there would be none.

“Where is your servant?” she called from the bed. “He should assist you.”

“I can dress myself, thanks,” Arthur’s voice floated in from behind the screen.

Because he couldn’t see her, she rolled her eyes at the ceiling. “While that is…admirable, it is not only a matter of ability. You are the king. It is _expected_ that a servant take care of needs such as this one. It is part of their job.”

He chuckled faintly. “And they do it very well. When I first came here – the first morning I woke up in these chambers,” he said, “there was a serving boy waiting. Didn’t really say a word, just started undressing me. So, naturally – ”

_Oh, no._

“I drew my sword at him.”

Though exasperated, Guenevere could not help but smile at that image.

“I know it’s how it goes,” Arthur went on then, quietly, added, “I just wish someone had told me about it before I scared the boy to death.”

Despite it all, Guenevere rebelled at such treatment. “They should have told you,” she said. “They cannot expect you to know what you were never taught.” _And neither should I._

Arthur emerged once more, dressed for sleep, the trace of a smile at the corner of his mouth. He looked rather handsome that way.

“It’s just as well,” he said, shrugging. “I won’t change my ways. I’m a grown man, I won’t have someone dress me like a child.”

“My maid dresses me every day, are you saying that _I_ am a child?”

“That’s different,” he dismissed, “you’ve got more laces on your dresses than the Gods themselves could sort through. You _need_ help.”

“So it’s a question of need?”

“Of course,” he said, like it was obvious. “What’s the point of wasted work?”

_Hmm._ “Do you think any work done in the service of the king can be wasted work?”

“I think it’s ridiculous to call it service, when all it is, is the king being too lazy to actually do the simplest things by himself.”

Why did she expect that this would turn into anything other than a roundabout insult to both her brother _and_ late father?

But she would grant him that he was quick of wit – if not of body. He approached the bed with the speed of a snail, dragging his feet, settling under the covers far too slowly. And with the grace of an oaf.

He did nothing further either, just sat beside her and turned his head to look at her appraisingly. Assuming his sweet nature made him wait for an invitation by the way of well-bred lords, she leaned in to kiss him. She didn’t mind the feeling of his lips on hers again, nor the way his mouth opened slightly under hers, tasting of the wine they had drunk.

She ought to have learned to expect the unexpected from him by now, but when he kissed her back for barely more than a moment before pulling away with a frown, she was honestly surprised.

“Is something the matter?”

“Um…” He avoided her eyes. “You know, we’re both tired from the feast and the dancing and all that, maybe we should just get some sleep – ”

“Arthur, what is it?”

His twitching stopped. He sighed, settling back against the headboard. “I know we’re husband and wife now,” he said, “and that…this is just supposed to be normal and all, but…” He shook his head. “The truth is, we’re strangers.”

“This seems as good a way as any to get to know each other.”

He barked a laugh, short and loud. “By all means, speak from the heart, my lady.”

“I just meant – ”

“I know,” he assured. “And I understand that you see no wrong in this – I don’t suppose there is any, really. But I wasn’t taught this way. And you know, you were right before,” he added, quieter now. “I did hope to marry for love. That hasn’t happened, and now it won’t, but…” He held her gaze, his eyes soft and blue in the candlelight. “How can I go to bed with a girl when I’ve no idea if she even likes me, too?”

Possibly for the first time in her life, Guenevere was entirely at a loss for words. Her mind automatically scrambled for the best reassurances – saying that she did like him, that he had become her heart’s desire – but there was too much shame in lying to the honest, and tricking the unwilling thus, and so inarticulate sounds left her mouth instead, never forming any actual words.

Her books had never prepared her for this.

Arthur smiled benevolently. “There’s plenty of other rooms in the palace, if you’d like to sleep in one of them.”

“Ru – rumors,” she found her voice, tripping over the words. “It – it would – start – rumors.”

“Oh, alright then, then I can sleep on the floor – ”

“You’re the king!” she practically screeched.

His lips pressed together – was he trying not to laugh at her? “Then I suppose this bed will be big enough for the both of us,” he declared, and proceeded to slip further down said bed, lying on his back under the covers, an arm under his head and the other resting lightly against his stomach.

She had to look like a simpleton like this, just mutely blinking down at him.

He narrowed his eyes. “Do you plan to do that all night? It’s…disconcerting.”

“I’m – I – I don’t – wha – ” She closed her eyes, taking two deep, long breaths to calm herself before opening them again.

“Don’t be offended,” he asked, so quietly it tugged at her heart. “It’s not my intention to offend you. And it is no insult towards you.” His eyes wandered her face. “You’re beautiful.”

Affection surged through her as she looked down on him, against all odds. He had such a gentle heart, Gods love him.

She pushed aside the things _she_ had been taught now – that to be too gentle was to be weak, that such innocence was for children and elders and not kings –, to slide down the bed herself, turning on her side and propping a hand under her head.

So then, she was to spend her life with this sweet, simple boy, and die a maiden. Queens had had worse fates.

“Tell me something,” she said. “If you hoped so badly to marry for love someday, then why did you ask to marry me?”

One of his shoulders slid against the pillow in a small shrug. “The council said that an alliance between Camelot and Cameliard would benefit us all.”

“That is true.”

“I hope so,” he said. “Because I can’t really tell what is best and what isn’t. I only ever do as they tell me.”

She sighed. “You should be careful who you say that to,” she cautioned softly. “You can’t trust everyone’s intentions.”

Eyes unwaveringly on hers, he asked, “I can trust you, can’t I?”

She smiled. “Yes. It is my duty to be your council.”

“You’ll fit right in with the rest of them, then.”

“No.”

He blinked.

“I am _your_ council,” she stressed. “For better or for worse, Arthur, you _are_ the king. You must set your own rules. Forget everyone else, you must follow what you believe is right.”

The moment seemed to call for it somehow, so she leaned in closer, and laid a hand over his heart. “You told me that you accepted your crown because you believed you could change things. That you could serve your people better than the old king. _That_ is what you must do, not what your council wants.”

He swallowed, uncertainty in his eyes. “I don’t know how,” he said. “I want to, I just…I’ve no idea how. I don’t know how to think like a king.”

Then her purpose was clear. “I’ll teach you.”

His frown cleared slowly, giving way to a smile. “Thank you.”

She hummed softly, withdrawing her hand. He lapsed into his stories again soon after, of his village and of Camelot, of the knights he’d met and befriended – of his ceremonial sword slipping from his sweaty hand the first time he’d had to knight a new one. Sir Lancelot, at least, had been very courteous about it.

But it was talking of Morgana’s work that seemed to drive him the most, a sort of boyish excitement in his voice as he talked about it. Inscribing different worlds on maps of the universe, reaching into the unseen to reveal the paths that bind them – pushing the laws of magic to the point that you could travel between them. _“Can you imagine,”_ he’d say, _“meeting others exactly like yourself? Imagine what we could learn from them.”_

Guenevere sunk back into the pillows, listening. It wore on into the night, in the peace of their chambers, her eyelids drooping under the sounds of his voice. She smiled at the endless possibilities, and fell asleep to her husband’s bedtime stories of adventures, and doubles, and curiosities that would soon be reality.


	8. Chapter 7

It happened so fast.

One moment he was staring into the face of his father, ghostly and pale, a sword hanging from each hand. The next, his double was running at them from the opposite end of the hallway, wielding his own sword, striking down against his father’s.

“What sort of an abomination are _you?”_ his father spat.

“Oh, _I_ am not the abomination here,” was the reply he received.

Arthur could see Merlin behind them, eyes wide and mouth hanging open, tracking the swipes and strikes of the three blades. Arthur watched, too, almost mesmerized by the patterns his father’s swords drew. He remembered the one that Gwenhwyfar had fought, and finally knew why the way it moved had seemed so familiar.

His father. His father was trying to kill Guinevere. But –

One blade was knocked out of his father’s hold, then the other, and then his double raised his own to deliver the final blow.

The tip of it slicing the air finally propelled Arthur forward, drawing his own sword. “No!”

“Wait!” Dragoon tried to stop him, and Merlin yelled, “Arthur, no!” but he ran anyway, and stopped his double before he could strike Father.

They swords clashed and for a heartbeat, everything stood still, as he stared into his double’s wide, uncomprehending eyes.

The moment passed, and he pushed him back. “What is the matter with you?”

Arthur didn’t answer him, spinning around frantically.

His father was gone.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Uther?” Guenevere asked. “Are you sure?”

Merlin looked away. Beside him, he heard Gwen’s breathing quicken.

Arthur sighed. “Yes,” he said. “The ghost is my father.”

Gwenhwyfar had gone eerily quiet, and eerily still, since they’d first told the news, not unlike Dragoon. Guenevere rubbed her lips together now, fingers curling around the armrests.

Her husband stood behind her, arms crossed. “And the only reason he’s still a threat,” he spoke, “is you. I had him. If you hadn’t stopped me, this would have been over by now.”

Arthur’s back stiffened. “I don’t believe this is all there is to it.”

“Oh, come on – ”

“It makes no sense, why would my father attack Guinevere? It must be Morgana’s influence, she’s making him do this somehow – ”

“You can’t _enchant_ a ghost!”

Arthur clenched his fists. “Why are you so eager to condemn him? He’s your father, too.”

“He is a curse upon this world!” his double burst out. “As he was on mine, and Gwenhwyfar’s, and everyone else’s!”

It silenced even the crackling of the fire in the fireplace. Merlin flinched from the force of it, gulping.

Arthur was gearing for a retort judging by the set of his shoulders, but Guenevere spoke first. “Perhaps things are not so simple. Maybe Uther was different here,” she cautioned softly – and, in Merlin’s opinion, didn’t believe a word of it. It was merely a way to make her husband remember the diplomacy he lacked, and he said nothing further. He did continue to glare, though.

Then Gwenhwyfar said, “Take me home.”

Merlin shook his head desperately. _Gwen still needs you. Please._

“Now, Emrys.”

He swallowed.

The only thing that saved him was Dragoon’s head snapping in her direction at hearing the name, too. He gave a measured nod. “As you wish.”

“Your desire to help ends here?” Arthur asked quietly.

“You ask for my help, and now you won’t take it,” she said, striving to sound hard and only managing to sound upset, “so _I_ will not stay here and listen to you defend the man who killed my brother.”

Gwen’s eyes snapped shut.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said.

_If Uther was as terrible in your world as he was here_ , Merlin tried to plead again, _then Gwen is in more danger than ever. It’s all the more reason to –_

_One more word and I will expose you to everyone here, do you understand?_

He understood perfectly. His heart beat a mile a minute but he squared his shoulders, and barreled on. _No, you won’t,_ he asserted. _You won’t risk my life that way. Like you couldn’t let Guenevere risk Gwen’s._

Her scowl faltered. Arthur was talking again, arguing with his double while Guenevere tried to restore peace, but Merlin ignored them and held Gwenhwyfar’s gaze. _You have a good heart. I know you won’t abandon Gwen now._

She said nothing, not aloud and not in his mind, but didn’t move to force Dragoon to take her home either. Merlin counted it as a victory.

In the noise the others were making, he turned to Gwen, and touched a hand to her arm to comfort her. When he met her eyes, they shone with fear.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Arthur led her by the hand, through the corridor that separated her chambers from his, away from the others, leaving Merlin to deal with their grievances and Gwenhwyfar’s change of heart. He kicked the side door shut behind them, his fingers slipping away from under hers as he went to fetch himself some water. Gwen stayed right where he left her.

It had been on her mind from the moment she had heard Uther’s name. Arthur probably didn’t want to hear it, and she wasn’t so eager to broach it either, but now, it truly needed to be said.

“Arthur, if something happens to me – ”

He swiveled round to her, goblet halfway up to his mouth. “Guinevere – ”

“I want you just to know,” she went on – if she didn’t, she’d probably lose her nerve, “that…I wouldn’t want you to be lonely. Or alone.” Sighing softly, she added, “I hope…you could find someone else to have by your side. Truly. Because you will be a great king. With or without me.”

Arthur sighed in kind, stepping back to her. He held her gaze, confident, and said, “Nothing is going to happen to you.”

“You can’t tell me that the ghost being your father changes nothing.”

He rubbed his lips. “All it does,” he said, “is prove Morgana’s cruelty.”

_Or her ingenuity._ “You truly believe she’s making him do this, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he said. “My father has no reason to want to harm you.”

A short, flat, _“Really?”_ was right at the tip of her tongue, but instead she said, “It would not be the first time he _has_ wanted to.”

Arthur ran a hand through his hair. “That’s different. That was…before. He thought you had enchanted me! But things have changed,” he argued. “He must know how much I love you. What you mean to me. He _wouldn’t_ do this.”

She sighed.

“Guinevere, he wouldn’t,” Arthur insisted, more agitated now. “He wouldn’t do it to _me._ He wouldn’t take you from me the way my mother was taken from him.”

Her chest tightened. The flaw in his reasoning, of course, was assuming that Uther had ever had such a big heart. But his eyes were earnest and beseeching, pleading with her to believe it, so she held her tongue and looked away.

“Besides,” Arthur added when she didn’t speak, “do you really think my father would do _Morgana’s_ bidding, of all people?”

Gwen took a deep breath, dragged her eyes back to his, and simply said, “Common enemies make for very good friends.”

“You’re not his enemy,” Arthur protested. “You took care of him when he was ill! He knows you have a good heart.”

“Forgive me,” she said, “but only you would think your father capable of such kindness.” Honestly, she doubted Uther even remembered she had done that.

Arthur only stared at her for a moment, then hung his head. “She’s making him do this, Guinevere,” he maintained. “I know it.”

“You heard what the others said,” she reminded quietly, “you can’t enchant a ghost.”

“Then she lied to him!” Arthur paced away from her then back, then away, then back again. “He believed you had enchanted me once before, maybe she’s made him believe the same now! Who knows what she’s told him?” He stopped, releasing a ragged breath. “I just have to make him see reason.”

She vividly remembered him trying to do just that once before, and Uther only ever twisting everything he said as further evidence against her; further reason to burn her at the stake. So, she held out little hope.

Arthur was waiting for her to say something. When she didn’t, he took it upon himself. “We’ll sort this out,” he promised. “You’ll see.”

In truth, she realized, it was Arthur who could not see reason at the moment. So she let it be, and only nodded to acknowledge him as the urge to flee came over her. She never felt safer than with Arthur – be it from bandits, soldiers or dragons – never, except now. Now, she wished for the presence of those who mistrusted Uther as much as she did.

“I should return to the others.” She smoothed her hands down her skirts, turning to leave. “I dread to think what they’ve put Merlin through by now.”

“Guinevere,” Arthur tried calling after her but she didn’t stop.

“I will see you later.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Are you alright?”

Merlin came to sit in the chair beside hers, sympathy in his eyes. There had been a lot less bloodshed in the room than she’d expected to find when she returned; Guenevere and her Arthur stood in a corner, holding hands and talking in whispers, while Gwenhwyfar and Dragoon stood at each other’s side by the window in complete and utter silence. They still shifted and sighed under their breaths as if reacting to words that weren’t spoken every now and again, and so Gwen surmised that their silence was not all that it seemed.

She turned to Merlin, offering him the best smile she could muster. “I’m fine, thank you.”

He knew her too well to believe it. “What happened?”

She fiddled with the end of the chain that hung around her waist, wringing it this way and that in her lap. “Arthur believes that Morgana’s talked Uther into this, somehow.”

“Right,” Merlin said. At least _he_ didn’t believe it any more than she did.

She took a deep breath. “Merlin, if something happens to me – ”

“Nothing,” he interrupted, “is going to happen to you.”

“But if it does – ”

“Gwen – ”

“ _Merlin._ ”

He pressed his lips together reluctantly.

“If it does,” Gwen said, “you _will_ take care of him.”

Merlin sighed. “Of course,” he said, “but nothing _will,_ so this is a moot point anyway.”

“I think you and I both know that no one’s had to talk Uther into anything,” she said quietly, “and that he will not stop until…” She sighed deeply, then just shrugged. “I am dead.”

“You can’t think like that.” Merlin covered her hand with his. “Arthur won’t let anyone harm you.”

“Arthur thinks he can _reason_ with Uther about this.”

“Look, Gwen, it’s – Uther’s his father,” Merlin said. “It’s hard for him to accept this. He loved him.”

“I know that.”

“He’ll see the truth eventually. It just…might take a moment. But that doesn’t mean,” he added with certainty, “that he will do anything that puts you in danger. He wouldn’t risk you for the world, Gwen.”

Her smile was genuine this time.

Merlin patted her hand, smiling in kind. “And you know what Gwenhwyfar said. As long as you’re within the protective circle she made, Uther can’t get to you. You’re also under the protection of two very fine warriors.” He glanced around the chambers. “So don’t worry so much. This will be over soon, and you – ” he grinned – “will be queen.”

She looked around, too. From the sword resting at Arthur’s double’s hip as he talked to Guenevere to the one strapped to Gwenhwyfar’s back – from the girl who always knew she would be queen to the one who knew she could never be one. _So which one am I?_

“What is it?” Merlin prompted softly.

She made to put it into words but nothing came out, so she just shrugged helplessly.

“You haven’t…changed your mind, have you?” Merlin asked cautiously. “Because of Uther? You still want to be queen?”

“I haven’t, no,” she said, swallowing. “But…”

“What?”

“The others, they…believe in things such as destiny and fate. That some things are meant to be.” She looked back to Merlin. “What if what _I_ want isn’t what’s meant to be?”

Merlin’s eyes softened. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Merlin…”

“No, listen…” He held her hand. “Morgana and Uther are _wrong._ Whatever they hold against you, they are wrong. You are meant to be queen, Gwen. And I believe that,” he declared. “As surely as I believe in Arthur.”

It wasn’t _they_ who made her doubt it. But she couldn’t have hoped to receive a greater mark of faith than that, and so she said, “Thank you, Merlin.”

He smiled again, in that cheerful way of his, and she did feel just a little bit better.

“Poppycock!” Dragoon suddenly exclaimed to no one in particular, and she jumped in her seat. Merlin blinked while Arthur and Guenevere raised their eyebrows; Gwenhwyfar merely rolled her eyes.

She had barely done so before she stilled. She reminded Gwen of a cat, its ears perking towards things only it could yet hear. The next moment, she drew her sword.

“Get behind me!” she ordered Gwen amidst the clattering of her and Merlin’s chairs, pulling her by the hand.

Arthur mirrored her actions, sword in one hand and Guenevere safely pushed behind him with the other. “What is it?”

Gwenhwyfar held on to her blade with both hands, eyes roaming the place. “He’s here.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The ends of Guinevere’s skirts disappeared through the door and Arthur sighed in the silence. He circled back to his desk, emptied his goblet, wished for something stronger, and braced against the wood.

Of course he understood why she was so wary. But he was right, if only just this once. All he had to do was prove it.

He needed to speak to his father.

He looked over his shoulder, eyeing the main doors. Light from the hallway seeped in beneath them, making the fine line of powder spread along the threshold glow faintly. Arthur pushed himself away from the desk. He came to stand just the edge, his foot hovering just above the protective circle. He hesitated for a moment, then disturbed it just so with the tip of his boot, and held his breath as he waited.

Nothing happened.

He expelled the breath noisily, and scoffed at himself. Shaking his head, he retreated back to his earlier spot, and let his eyes drift shut.

“Arthur.”

He spun around so fast he knocked over an inkwell.

“Father.”

There were no swords hanging from his hands now, but he was still just as Arthur had seen him in the hallway. So pale, his skin was nearly white, made all the worse by the black clothes and cloak he wore – a cloak that seemed to billow slightly in a breeze that wasn’t there, just as his voice seemed to echo faintly against walls that didn’t exist. But for all that, it was still Uther, still his father; still the one person he had missed every day since he had become king. He wondered if he could hug him, if he was real enough for him to try it.

Tears gathered in his eyes but he smiled, hoping to see the same reflected in his father’s expression.

But his face was set in stone.

_Right._ Arthur ran a hand over his mouth. “Father, I,” his voice cracked a little, “I don’t know what Morgana has told you, but Guinevere – ” he shook his head – “has done nothing wrong.”

“No,” his father agreed, and Arthur nearly breathed in relief, before he followed it with, “It is _you_ who has done everything wrong.”

Arthur froze, his breath catching. “Father – ”

“It is bad enough, that when you are meant to strengthen Camelot’s army, you choose to knight commoners. Now, you have done even worse. Your marriage was supposed to serve Camelot, to secure an alliance with another kingdom. Instead,” his father accused, “you choose to marry a _serving girl.”_

_No…_

“I have spent my life building my legacy, I will not have my own son destroy it.”

The tears spilled over, running hot down his cheeks. “No, you – ” Arthur struggled to breathe. “You don’t mean that.”

“I take no pleasure in it,” his father said, “but you have brought this on yourself. I am only here to correct your mistake, Arthur.”

_Correct his – what sort of –_ “Are you listening to yourself?” Arthur snapped. He couldn’t believe that this was it, that he had finally seen his father again just to hear this – to have to speak of _this._ “You’re talking about killing a woman! An innocent woman – the woman that I _love!”_

“You are the king,” his father scolded, “there are more important things than your _love._ Morgana understands that.”

“Morgana – what – ” Arthur said weakly, falling back against the desk for support. “She never had to talk you into anything, did she?”

Everything fell into place suddenly, like an illusion washing away, and he saw his father for all he didn’t want to remember him as. “You would take her side over mine? After _everything_ she has done? She betrayed you! She betrayed Camelot!”

Something flickered in his father’s expression. “So imagine my disappointment,” he said, “when _she_ understands what it means to rule better than my own son.”

Arthur felt the blow as if it had been dealt by the sharpest of swords. Fresh tears fell but he wiped them away furiously, shaking his head. “How can you do this to _me?”_ he demanded. “When you know _exactly_ how it feels! Mother was taken from you the same way!”

“Do not,” his father was incensed, “compare your mother to that _servant._ ”

“Guinevere,” Arthur defied, “will be every bit the queen that Mother was.”

“How can a serving girl possibly understand what it means to be queen?”

“She is wise, and strong,” Arthur said proudly, “and I trust her more than anyone.” _And she was right about you._

“I once thought that she had enchanted you but now I realize it is much worse than that. Do you not see how much your feelings for this girl cloud your judgement?” his father asked – like _he_ was the unreasonable one here. “You risk _everything_ for _no one!_ You expose your weaknesses to your enemies, you jeopardize the very future of Camelot – you consort with _sorcerers!”_

Arthur took the beating silently, bile rising in his throat. Uncertainty filled him all at once – up was down and east was west, and he couldn’t tell if everything he’d ever done right was actually wrong.

“I will not let you destroy both our legacies because you can’t tell your heart from your head,” his father never relented. “One day, you will thank me.”

“Thank – !”

“When you have found your true match, and _she_ sits at your side as Camelot’s rightful queen.”

 “No,” Arthur denied firmly.

Just like that, everything was perfectly clear again.

“There is only…one rightful queen of Camelot. And it’s not Morgana, whatever she may think. And it wasn’t,” he gestured vaguely around, “Elena, or – whatever other princess you would have me marry. It’s Guinevere.”

It was only ever Guinevere.

“The people _love_ her,” he said, “and the knights respect her, and this whole kingdom…” He shook his head. “Without her, it’s worth nothing to me.”

His father said nothing in return but his face twisted, like he had never been more sure of Arthur’s weakness. Yet Arthur had never been more convinced of anything either. He may be a terrible king, but Guinevere – Guinevere would be a great queen.

“Please, Father,” he still begged. “Leave her be. Just…just leave her be.”

His father’s face was inscrutable. In the end, he only said, “You leave me no choice.”

“No, wait – Father – ”

He was already gone.

The side door swayed on its hinges, disturbing the powder beneath it – the two lines of it, perfectly in parallel, drawing a safe path through the corridor between his chambers and Guinevere’s, extending the circle of protection. Except now his father was within it, too.

Arthur knocked over half the desk as he ran for the door.


	9. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's definitely on the short side, but I figured that after a month and a half of radio silence, it's also definitely better than nothing.

Uther swept through the room with an axe.

Gwenhwyfar was muttering about it being impossible – that he had broken through, that there was a way through her protections – while Gwen clung to her out of fear.

Once, she had felt sorry for Uther – to see him as he had been, pitiful and broken. He was hardly such a sad sight now. Death had restored him.

Dragoon pulled Guenevere behind him, then raised his hand as if in defense. Arthur charged Uther first, sword grinding against the metal of the axe.

“I only want the girl,” Uther said, in a voice that sent chills down Gwen’s spine. “You needn’t risk your life trying to defeat me.”

He swung the axe at Arthur’s head. Arthur ducked.

“I only want you banished from existence,” he retorted, “you needn’t make it this easy for me.”

His next strike nearly caught Uther right in the heart.

But he avoided it with a speed that defied the senses – and then it was furniture flying right at Arthur’s head. He lunged to the side to avoid it, hitting the ground with an echoing thud as a chair smashed against the wall.

Guenevere cried out, drawing Uther’s attention. His eyes snapped from her to Gwen, narrowed, before he seemed to decide that his target was the first of them.

Dragoon’s voice thundered through the room in a strange tongue, his eyes flashing like they were on fire and Uther stopped, as if held back by an invisible force. Gwenhwyfar took her chance and ran to strike him from behind – only to be deterred by a vase that flew and smashed against her head.

It wasn’t just the vase either – splintered wood, as big and sharp as spears, tapestries, and ornaments, all gathered as if caught in a whirlwind, bringing a mighty wind into the closed space. Gwen had never been more frightened in her life, just standing there in the middle of it, while Gwenhwyfar and Arthur groaned upon the ground.

Uther sent a shard of glass the size of a plate straight at Dragoon’s throat, which moved with a new enchantment to shatter it – though it must have broken whatever he had used to keep Uther at bay, because now he advanced again.

“No!” Gwen screamed across the room. “It’s me you want!”

Everything stopped as Uther whirled on her. There was no pity, no regret in his expression, only determination. He was in front of her in the blink of an eye, and though Gwen wanted to draw back, to run, she was frozen in place, watching the axe rise in the air while her heart beat so fast it stole the breath right out of her lungs.

“No!”

Her Arthur came out of nowhere, running across the room. He had no sword, no weapon for protection, but he threw himself in front of her like a shield.

Gwen gasped, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as she tried to make herself as small as possible behind his back. She could not see his face, but she saw Uther’s, the way it twisted and his eyes narrowed.

The axe still hung in the air like an executioner’s, and for a moment, Gwen truly believed it would come down – even upon Arthur.

Gwenhwyfar came roaring from behind and it fell to the floor as Uther disappeared –  blowing the doors wide open and leaving her sword to cut at nothing but air. Her eyes burned with rage in the split-second Gwen met them before all she could see was Arthur, spinning around to face her.

She had never seen this look in _his_ eyes, full of fear and guilt as they went over her frantically.

“Gwenhwyfar, no!” Merlin yelled before Arthur could open his mouth to speak, and she snapped her head to the side just in time to see Gwenhwyfar disappear through the doors, too.

Right into the castle.

Arthur cursed under his breath, and only gave her hand a quick squeeze before taking off in a run, Merlin at his heels. She almost screamed after them to get _weapons._

“Ah, hell.” Guenevere’s Arthur was picking himself off the ground, too, rubbing at his head. Guenevere was at his side immediately, making her way around Dragoon.

“Are you alright?” She immediately inspected him for further injury, hand up to delicately brush over the spot where he had hit his head.

He gave a reassuring nod, before his eyes slipped to the doors, then Dragoon, then back to his wife. The next moment, he was thrusting his sword into her hands. Under different circumstances, Gwen could have laughed at the expression that crossed her face.

“What are you doing?” Guenevere asked.

“Stay here,” Arthur said. “If he comes back, _use_ it.”

“But I – ”

“It’s alright.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “Hold and strike, just like I taught you.”

A short-lived, tremulous smile passed her lips before Arthur kissed her soundly, and backed away.

“You – ” he pointed at Dragoon, walking backwards – “stay with them. Don’t be frightened, my love,” he added as he picked up the axe and headed for the doors. Just before they shut behind him, Gwen saw him mouth a reassurance to her, too.

There was complete silence after he left. Gwen stared mutely at the others – Guenevere, holding the blade awkwardly in her hands, and Dragoon, face set in stone – then at the mess in the chambers, glass and flowers upon the ground, chairs strewn about and ornaments hanging haphazardly on the walls.

When Dragoon spoke, she nearly jumped out of her own skin. “We should restore the protective circle.”

He moved to do it before she could respond. It was only when she watched him crouch with a hiss that she snapped out of it, going over to help.

“Why bother?” she asked quietly, scooping the scattered powder in her hands; it was more dust and dirt than salt and lavender now. “It doesn’t seem to keep him out anymore.”

Dragoon gave her a sidelong glance. “I’m sorry this has happened,” he said after a moment. “It must be an ordeal for you.”

Gwen looked over to him, where he knelt next to her. She had never been this close to him before – to either version of him – but now, she could look right into his eyes, and she swore she knew them. That they were somehow those of a friend.

She dismissed the thought and weakly joked, “I could think of better ways to spend the days before my wedding.”

It earned her a little smile.

The rustling behind them signaled that Guenevere had settled into one of the chairs left standing, the sword placed neatly across her knees.

“Are you alright, my lady?” Dragoon asked over his shoulder.

“Oh, I’m fine,” she said. In Gwen’s opinion, she rather looked like she was about to be sick. But those were the same thing in times like these, she supposed.

A noise came from the hallway and Gwen was immediately on alert.

“Do you worry someone heard the fight?” Dragoon asked.

She sighed. “Yes, that, too,” she said. “I worry about the others. What if Uther harms them?”

“I think they will be fine.”

“What if they are seen?”

“I can erase the people’s memories again,” he proposed. She gave him a sharp look. “Or not.”

“Arthur will never allow it.”

“Would you?”

Gwen swallowed. It was a question she had avoided thinking about since the start. Her father had once unwittingly invited sorcery into his life and it had caused his death. Morgana had embraced it fully and it had corrupted her beyond recognition. The truth was, sorcery was the most dangerous thing she knew.

Arthur walked a fine line now, allowing it to save her life, and if that meant he transgressed in some way, then she was complicit in it. Hell, she had just seen it wielded and she knew that Arthur – or she –would never wish to make Dragoon face the consequences. But to openly condone it…

“I don’t think so.”

Dragoon was silent for a moment, an inscrutable look in his eyes. “There is no evil in sorcery, Guinevere,” he said eventually. “Only in the hearts of men.”

Perhaps that was true, too. Arthur had certainly thought so, once. Dragoon, with his willingness to help even in these circumstances, could certainly make her want to believe it. And if all the magic of all the worlds was the same…then perhaps so were those who practiced it.

She helped Dragoon back to his feet with a hand under his arm, smiling faintly when he groaned, then frowning with worry when his back cracked as loudly as a drum.

“Do not fret,” he dismissed. “That happens.”

She did not think that was normal in any way but then again – sorcerers.

“You should check the state of the protections in the king’s chambers,” Guenevere spoke again, and Gwen thought there might have been some sort look that was exchanged between her and Dragoon.

“I do not think Uther attacked Arthur first.” Even as she said it, Gwen definitely caught the look that passed between the others _now_. “What is it?”

Guenevere’s expression grew more guarded, her lips pursed as if she were holding back a sigh. A person who hated being the bearer of bad news, if Gwen had ever seen one.

“You were right to wonder about the protections’ effectiveness,” she said, “but M – Dragoon is also right when he says they must be restored. The truth is, Uther could not have broken through it on his own.”

“He is of the spirit world,” Dragoon explained. “He is not made of the same substance we are. It is precisely that which he is made of that this powder repels. Yet neither he, nor anyone else, can change what makes him.”

“So, what are you saying?”

Guenevere sighed. “If he broke through, it must be because Arthur let him in.”

Gwen shook her head. “No, why would Arthur do such a thing? He – ” _He thought he could reason with Uther._

The words died in Gwen’s throat as she pressed her lips together – then avoided the others’ eyes when their gazes became just a little too pitying.

“I shall go restore the powder in the king’s chambers as well,” Dragoon declared after a moment.

As he left, Gwen decided the best thing to do was to keep busy so she set to cleaning up, starting by gathering the broken glass in her hands.

“I’m sure he only acted without thinking,” Guenevere spoke.

“I’m sure,” Gwen agreed.

Wisely, Guenevere said nothing further.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Merlin ran after Arthur who ran after Gwenhwyfar, knocking out the guards the ruckus summoned with his magic where Arthur could not see.

It would surely spread that an attack had happened soon, but Merlin couldn’t think about that – not when he chased apparitions down one corridor only to hear Gwenhwyfar clash swords with Uther two flights below them, running around the castle like a headless chicken with an equally disoriented king.

The struggle finally led them to the throne room. He and Arthur rushed through the door in time to see Gwenhwyfar wipe blood off her lip and leap in the air, the tip of her blade sinking into the ground when Uther avoided it faster than any of them could blink.

He was no less a formidable foe for holding no weapons now, either. He managed to defy Gwenhwyfar, making objects speed across the room to harm her – or tossing _her_ across it when he saw his chance.

Gwenhwyfar’s back hit one of the pillars, and as she fell down, a bench rose at Uther’s command, only to be splintered in half by the axe that whizzed through the air. Arthur’s double had come through one of the side doors, then, bare-handed, ran at Uther, in what was probably the most reckless move Merlin had ever seen – perhaps only closely matched in recklessness by Arthur doing the same thing and Merlin following after him on instinct.

All three were thrown back with the same force, and Merlin crashed against the wall before crumbling to the ground.

He managed to scramble on all fours, rubbing his aching head, in time to see that, of them all, Gwenhwyfar was the only one who was back on her feet, still swinging.

Her sword met Uther’s axe in the middle of the throne room, and her war cries gave it the air of a battlefield. The light of the full moon streaming through the windows made the sight even more surreal – Gwenhwyfar, again and again, striking against a dead man.

Merlin tried to summon his strength and raised a shaking hand in the air, a sloppy incantation at the tip of his tongue.

Uther was thrown back, as if hit by some immeasurable force that blew the drapes and flags and shook the windowpanes as it took him. He disappeared in a gust of wind, and Merlin would have congratulated himself on his power – except he hadn’t done anything.

A man strode through the doors, shrouded in black, hand still striking out as his eyes glowed golden under his hood.

Gwenhwyfar let out a great cry, her sword clattering to the ground as she ran to throw her arms around the man’s neck. He embraced her with equal force, strong enough that only her toes still touched the ground.

She took his face in her hands, laughing breathlessly, the moonlight coming down to shine on the awe and affection in her eyes. It illuminated the features of the man’s face, too, as his hood fell back, and Merlin felt as though he had hit his head against another wall.

_Arthur._


	10. Chapter 9

_Regular Arthur, Bearded Arthur and Magical Arthur walk into a tavern,_ Merlin thought nonsensically, ungainly picking himself off the ground.

_Magical_ Arthur only spared a moment to go over them all before his eyes went back to Gwenhwyfar, taking her in. He still had an arm around her, his free hand gingerly touching the places where she was hurt. From what he could glimpse of his profile, Merlin thought he had the air of a tortured man about him, that only slowly eased the longer he looked on her.

Guenevere’s Arthur was back on his feet, too, armor clanking softly in the quiet room as he rubbed at his wrist. “Good to see you again, too, Prince,” he said.

_Arthur_ promptly gasped, eyes snapping to Gwenhwyfar. “You said he was nothing like me!”

Merlin blinked. _That_ was what was important here?

Gwenhwyfar seemed a little taken aback herself. “I – I suppose he is a bit like you, yeah.”

By the looks of it, Arthur would probably never manage to pick his jaw off the floor again, and honestly, Merlin wasn’t faring much better either.

“You have magic,” he said weakly.

It got the man to look at him at least. “I was born with it.”

Merlin stopped breathing.

Gwenhwyfar made to speak but a new voice reached them, and Merlin nearly fell right back down out of shock alone.

“There you are!”

A new figure stood at the threshold to the throne room, as shrouded in blackness as the last – except now it was his own face that Merlin stared into.

His double came in with force – and Gwenhwyfar broke into a smile –, a shortsword in each hand, the sleeves of his black tunic pushed up to the elbows to reveal an intricate string of markings that weaved up his arms. Merlin thought he recognized a triskelion and a dragon’s tail before he was promptly distracted by his double flicking his swords with practiced ease and sheathing them in the crossed scabbards at his back. He looked over the rest of them, raising an eyebrow at the expressions on their faces.

“I am Em – ” he began but stopped abruptly, head whipping in Gwenhwyfar’s direction. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I am Merlin.”

He was not.

A fact that was confirmed when Merlin heard his own voice in his head. _Have no fear, I will keep your secret,_ it said. _But honestly, what sort of a name is Merlin?_

Merlin really couldn’t say.

Arthur looked like he might never recover either.

In the silence they created, Gwenhwyfar finally spoke, looking between their newest guests. “I don’t understand,” she said, “what are you doing here?”

“We came for you,” they answered as one, like it was obvious.

She smiled tenderly, shaking her head. “I meant, _how?”_

The answer to that was evidently for her ears only – or her mind. Or so Merlin assumed, at least, from the poignant looks she shared with – _Emrys_ and _her_ Arthur, not a word passing between them.

Commotion from outside disturbed the stillness, knights’ voices echoing in the halls, and Arthur finally snapped out of it, springing into action.

“Get them out of here,” he told Merlin, “I’ll handle the knights.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The last few days may just have made Gwen immune to surprises.

For when Merlin came back and said that he had brought with him yet a new Merlin, and yet a new Arthur – _“Oh, and this one has magic, too.” –_ , and placed them in the king’s quarters, she could merely shrug and say, “Alright.”

“I’ll take care of this,” he told her when she only continued with her task of righting chairs. Guenevere and Dragoon were already gone. “You should see to the others.”

Gwen took a deep breath, smoothing down her skirts. “Where is Arthur?”

By the look on his face, Merlin probably wanted to quip back with a, _“Which one?”_ , but instead said, “He’s speaking with the knights. The fight caught their attention…eventually. I’m not sure what he’ll tell them.”

Gwen nodded. “We shall find out when he returns.”

When she hesitated again at the doors, Merlin only gave her a look and ordered, “Go.”

So she did, taking one more deep breath and sending out one more prayer before she set foot into the royal chambers. Everyone had already gathered at the table.

Her eyes immediately went to the two she had not yet seen. Having met a version of herself who was a mighty dark warrior, the new Merlin was probably just about what Gwen would expect to find. More muscles on him than she could ever imagine on _hers_ , armed to the teeth, and with strange markings on his skin.

His big ears were still just the same, though. As was the smile on his face when he saw her.

“I see you clean up nicely in this world, too,” he said.

Gwen found herself smiling back.

In the spot next to him, was Arthur. He stood straight as an arrow, a sword hanging from one hip and what might have been a mace from the other, his arms clasped behind his back. He inclined his head to her in a wholly regal fashion, and only said, “My lady.”

Seeing no point in correcting the title anymore, Gwen bowed in kind and said, “My lord.”

From how Gwenhwyfar had spoken of her beloved _prince_ , this Arthur was exactly what she might have expected, too – save for maybe the fact that she could see no markings on _him_ , not even one to match Gwenhwyfar’s.

Gwen winced as she took _her_ in fully, though. “Are you alright?”

She had blood on her lip and cheek, a gash that ran along her hairline and pieces of glass in her hair. “This is nothing,” she dismissed.

“You look dreadful,” Guenevere commented.

Gwenhwyfar, naturally, just rolled her eyes.

“Should I send for Gaius to tend to you?” Gwen asked.

“There will be time for that later,” Gwenhwyfar dismissed again. “I would rather spend this time discussing the night’s events.”

Gwen affected a brave face. “As you wish,” she said, “but I think it best to wait for the king to return.”

All took her unspoken invitation to settle in and both Arthurs reached to grab one side of the chair at the head of the long table, pulling it out for her, which was – an odd sort of experience.

She was tucked in quite nicely with both their help, and kindly thanked them as they took their own seats at the table. They were three for three, the people of one world opposite those of another, with Gwen in the middle of it, and frankly, she wasn’t so sure what to do with that.

Probably best to start off simple. “What happened?”

To her left, Gwenhwyfar said, “I fought Uther, but he is far more powerful than I expected. Arthur,” she added, and Gwen wondered if she was aware of how lovingly she spoke his name, “managed to repel him. He came just in time.”

Dragoon seemed particularly intrigued by this, turning curious eyes on Arthur. “And how _did_ you come here?”

“Magic,” Arthur deadpanned. Gwen wasn’t sure if she should laugh.

But something did strike her as odd. “Could you see him?” she asked. Arthur shook his head.

“Then how did you he was there?”

“Well,” he said, “it was either a ghost, or she was fighting air.”

“Or an invisible sorcerer,” Dragoon supplied.

“Or that,” Arthur allowed.

“Perhaps from now on,” Guenevere spoke as she rubbed slow circles into the wrist of her husband’s hand, where he had laid it on the table, “it would be wise to be able to truly see him. Could Gaius prepare more of his potion?”

“Yes, I believe so,” Gwen said. By happenstance, she looked not at Guenevere but at her husband, watching curiously as his mouth turned up in a soft smile at hearing Gaius’s name, a faraway look in his eyes. Come to think of it, he had looked the same when he had first met Gaius. And when he had taken his own dose of the potion from his hands.

“And perhaps,” Guenevere now turned to Gwenhwyfar, “from now on, you could also choose not to act so recklessly.”

_Oh, no,_ Gwen thought faintly as Gwenhwyfar’s mouth thinned.

“I saw my chance and I took it,” she said.

“You went after Uther without thinking,” Guenevere persisted. “You could have been seen – worse, you could have been killed. Do not pretend you acted on anything other than impulse. And anger.”

Gwenhwyfar looked to be slowly filling with anger now, too, as her Arthur’s expression grew more guarded and Merlin began to studiously inspect his nails.

“Don’t preach to me about the way I should feel about this man,” Gwenhwyfar warned.

“He is not the same one who – ”

Guenevere’s words were cut off when her husband turned her hand over in his, wrapping his fingers tightly around hers. He shook his head ever so slightly, and Guenevere fell silent, never finishing what she had wanted to say.

Her meaning had still been perfectly clear, though. “No, he is not the same one who killed her brother,” Gwen said – she, too, perhaps, acting on impulse. “But Uther did kill _my_ father.”

Guenevere dipped her head in apology while Arthur’s head snapped in her direction. There was something like perfect understanding in his expression as he gave her a wry smile. “Mine, too.”

Gwen had little time to ponder that answer and none to ask for an explanation, for the doors opened to reveal the king, and behind him, Leon and Gaius – Merlin, too, and Gwen had to wonder how he had managed to sort out the mess in her chambers so fast.

But it was Arthur who had her attention. She met his eyes and the world around her faded to noise as he held her gaze. She could see his weariness, and again the guilt and regret that she finally understood – even some relief, just the barest easing of the tension in him, when he saw her.

He never looked away as he took his seat at the end of the table opposite her, and she followed every move he made as he settled in. (Guenevere’s husband followed Gaius’s.)

Gwen swallowed. “How is it?”

Arthur took a deep breath. “We drew attention,” he said. “I had to tell the knights that there was still a threat in Camelot.”

Leon, who remained standing at the king’s side, snapped out of his dazed studying of the attendees, and Gwen realized that it was only now that he met Arthur’s doubles – though he seemed most disturbed by Merlin’s double’s appearance. (Merlin himself, as if frightened of it, too, had come to stand behind Gwen.)

“They believe an assassin still roams the city,” Leon informed. “They know nothing of the ghost. I will ensure that it remains so.” His eyes slipped to Arthur. “You said you had seen it. May I ask who it is, my lord?”

Arthur looked to her from across the table – it seemed to stretch for miles between them, somehow – and gave a soft sigh. “It’s…my father.”

“Your fa – !” Leon stopped short. “I…see.”

He looked to her, too, brow creased in a frown, even when his eyes slowly filled with understanding. Gwen gave him the barest of smiles in return, about just as much as she could muster.

“Seeing him is exactly the challenge we face,” Guenevere said. “We were just discussing it – now that the prince and – Merlin, have joined us, it would be wise to allow them to see him as well. Perhaps even Sir Leon. Would it be possible to make more of your potion, Gaius?”

Gaius, seated on their side of the table next to Dragoon, nodded readily. “It brews as we speak, my lady.”

She nodded in turn, smiling.

“Sire,” Leon spoke quietly, as if a difficult thought had just occurred to him, “does this mean our plans have changed? Is our goal still to destroy…the ghost?”

Arthur shut his eyes, rubbing his forehead as the fingers of his other hand worked against one another restlessly atop the table.

“It is what we must do,” Gwenhwyfar said without pity. “Perhaps it is not the only way, but it might as well be. We do not have time for thinking of anything else, not when he grows in power. He already knows how to manipulate objects – and who knows what sort of trickery your Morgana has taught him to make him able to break through my protections?”

Tension spread at her words and Arthur froze. “She didn’t teach him that,” he said after a moment. “It was my fault. I let him in.”

Gwenhwyfar went very still, very fast. “You let him in?”

“I thought I could reason with him.” Yet he wasn’t speaking to Gwenhwyfar as he said it, but to Gwen, his eyes pleading with her to understand. “I’m sorry.”

Gwen swallowed tightly.

“Reason with him?” Gwenhwyfar was not deterred. “With the man who’s trying to kill your betrothed?”

Arthur flinched. “I thought, um…I thought Morgana had talked him into it.”

“Right,” Gwenhwyfar sneered, as Guenevere’s husband ran a hand over his face, shaking his head. “Because good men can be _talked_ into this sort of thing.”

“I was wrong,” Arthur said quietly.

It broke Gwen’s heart to see him like this.

“What’s done is done,” she declared. “There is no point in dwelling on it.”

Arthur’s expression filled with gratitude, his shoulders rising and falling in a soft sigh as he gave her a tender smile.

“That still doesn’t answer the good knight’s question,” Gwenhwyfar’s Merlin spoke from the spot next to his commander, and all eyes went to him. “Is your goal still to destroy him?”

His throat working as he swallowed, Arthur asked a question in return, “What would it mean, to…destroy him, with the blade? For his…”

“Soul?” Merlin offered, shrugging. “If he is struck with Excalibur, then he will be _gone_. Banished from _all_ existence. Not just this world, not just the next, not just once and not just in future. If you had hoped to still reunite with him in the spirit world or the next life, you would be sorely disappointed.”

Gwen’s heart broke further still at the expression it brought to Arthur’s face. Watching him now, and with a sinking feeling in her stomach, she knew he wouldn’t bear to do it.

“You had no qualms before you knew who it was,” Gwenhwyfar accused. “ _Now_ you care what it means to destroy a ghost?”

“He’s my father,” Arthur said tightly.

“He’s either your father or the man who’s trying to kill the woman you profess to love,” Gwenhwyfar was relentless. “You’re either trying to save _her_ or trying to save _him_. It’s as simple as that.”

Nothing about it was simple – not to Arthur. It was terrible to watch him struggle with it, wrestle with the thought that this was a choice he had to make. Giving up the throne for her was one thing, she supposed. Giving up his father was another one entirely.

But Gwenhwyfar had asked a question which, in the end, did have a simple answer, and Gwen realized she didn’t want to hear it.

A lump rose in her throat but she swallowed past it, blowing out a quiet breath no one heard.

“Regardless of any of this,” she spoke, and drew everyone’s attention, “I…wanted to say thank you.”

She looked over them, these people from different worlds who reminded her of herself, those she loved and even one she once feared, and found the will to smile.

“All of you,” she said. “I do owe you my life. You’ve risked your own lives to try and save mine, and for that, I am truly grateful. I hope you know that.”

By the looks on their faces, they understood that her words were goodbyes disguised as thank you’s. Even Arthur, though it sank in more slowly for him, his frown giving way to understanding. He began shaking his head, opening his mouth to speak, but Gwen went on before he could.

“But I see no reason now why you should continue to – ”

“How was he summoned?”

Gwen’s head snapped to the left, where Gwenhwyfar’s Arthur had raised the question. It was the first thing he had spoken in a long time.

“We do not know,” it was Guenevere who answered.

“Still, if it was his daughter who summoned him,” he looked around for confirmation and received nods in return, “then there are harder, and _easier_ , ways to do it. Would she have the power to wield, say, an artefact imbued with the magic of the Triple Goddess?”

“She is a high priestess,” her Merlin said and Gwen blinked. How did he know that was the right answer to that question?

Arthur nodded. “Where I come from, there are objects someone with such power can use to find a way to their dead – to call for those of their blood. What would be their equivalent here?”

It was probably to be expected that all heads turned to Gaius. He gave it some thought, then said, “I have heard of such objects. Perhaps the most likely one is the Horn of Cathbhadh.” He turned to the king. “In the days of the Old Religion, the high priestesses would use it to communicate with their ancestors, at the Great Stones of Nemeton. It is within reason to assume that Morgana could have it.”

“If that is what she used to bring Uther into our world,” Leon asked, “then I assume it is also what could send him back?”

“Yes.”

“So, if we were to retrieve it…”

“It’s not that simple.” Gaius shook his head. “Morgana summoned Uther here. Only she can send him back.”

“Were you not listening when I explained this?” Gwenhwyfar commented dryly.

“Right, but,” her Arthur said, “if it calls for one’s blood through a two-way bond, then surely, its purpose can be altered to include a third…”

“Oh, you’re clever,” his Merlin suddenly enthused, shaking his head as if in wonder. “You’re so very clever…”

“Thank you.”

Merlin turned to Dragoon, opposite him. “If it responds to the call of Morgaine’s blood, then it can also be _tricked_ into responding to that of someone else from the bloodline – ”

“Oh, yes,” Dragoon agreed, eyes widening in epiphany. “If the sense-memory of the Horn draws on that part of Morgana’s blood which comes from Uther to maintain the bond, then we need only make it blind to the true identity of that who wields it…”

“By masking the fact that it’s not a woman…”

“And it will respond to the part of _him_ which comes from Uther as well it would have Morgana’s.”

“Of course.”

“It’s so obvious.”

_It is?_ Gwen thought weakly. Opposite her, Arthur was scratching his head. “What?”

“If you retrieve the Horn,” Dragoon put it plainly, “I can alter its purpose.”

“Alter its purpose?”

“With a, um, potion. _You_ will be able use it to send Uther back to the spirit world.”

Arthur’s response was immediate. _“Yes,”_ he said, like he was grasping a lifeline.

“Very well.” Dragoon nodded. “Now we need only find where Morgana keeps it…”

“Gather all the reports we’ve had of her being sighted,” Arthur turned to Leon. “We will go through them and try and find common ground. With some luck, we can find where she dwells now.” He looked to Merlin. “You and I will go to retrieve this horn.”

“Oh, um…” Guenevere looked between them. “You feel equipped to face Morgana? You and your…servant?”

Merlin reeled. “I am perfectly capable of – ” He stopped mid-word. “Never mind.”

But Arthur was chewing on his lip. “God, you’re right.”

Guenevere opened her mouth as if to make a suggestion, only for her eyes to widen when her husband said, “Dragoon and I will go.”

“You will?”

He placed his hand over hers. “Have no fear,” he soothed. “ _We_ will be fine, you know we will.”

Gwen rather thought that what she feared, was that they would leave _her_ alone here again. But she swallowed it back, and affected a fearless demeanor. “Of course,” she agreed. “If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

He smiled in return, bringing her hand to his lips. Gwen had to look away.

Her eyes fell to their doubles instead, and she was struck again that Gwenhwyfar and hers seem to have the ability to hold conversations without words. Gwen lingered on the prince, though. For all the help he had just given her, he still seemed – reluctant to be here, as reluctant as Guenevere had been at times, showing little emotion, face nearly set in stone. Except for when his eyes were on Gwenhwyfar.

Gwen had to look away from them, too.

“Sire, I must ask again,” she heard Leon speak, “but what of the tournament? With the threat on Gwen’s life, should we let it go on?”

She could hardly avoid Arthur’s eyes now, watching her from across the table. The tournament was in honor of their engagement, for them, for the kingdom to enjoy it with them. As they waited for their wedding day.

Even as she readied to tell Leon to cancel it, the words got stuck in her throat.

“It should be safe enough,” Guenevere spoke when she didn’t. “Besides, to cancel it might make people wonder, it might reveal to them how serious a threat there is in Camelot. Why worry them?”

Gwen expelled a breath, not quite knowing what to do. “Um…”

“Yet, there is a threat,” Leon pointed out. “To you, Gwen.” He sighed softly. “I know that _I_ won’t be able to fight as well as I should if my mind is only on your safety. I’m sure the king feels the same way.”

By the looks of him, he did.

“Hmm,” Gwenhwyfar hummed, eyes focusing on Guenevere like those of a hunter. Her prey had the good sense to look wary.

“If it is so safe,” she said, “then surely you, my lady, won’t mind taking Guinevere’s place tomorrow? To put the men’s minds at ease.”

Guenevere’s jaw dropped. “I – what?”

“Come on,” Gwenhwyfar seemed to be enjoying this, “you know how well you can pass for her in this world. You even confused Uther.” She smirked. “Or are you frightened?”

“Commander,” her husband warned quietly as Guenevere looked on like it had just been suggested to her that she fight a bear with her bare hands.

But she masked it quickly and raised her chin, staring Gwenhwyfar down in defiance. “I will do it.”

“You will?” her husband and Arthur let out as one.

She gave a smile to the former then turned to the latter. “I will,” she asserted again. “I will play this part to ensure the future queen’s safety until the threat is gone. But only,” she added, “if you allow _my_ husband to take your place, too.”

Arthur bit his lip. “Uh…”

His double seemed to like this idea much better, however. “Yes,” he agreed – enthusiastically. “We can recover the Horn tonight. And in the morning, I will take your place in this tournament. It’s perfect.”

Arthur looked a little lost, eyes bouncing from Gwen to Merlin to Leon to Gaius, only to, in the end, nod his agreement. “Alright.”

“Then it’s settled,” his double concluded. “What sort of tournament is this anyway?”

“A joust.”

He nodded confidently. “Excellent.”

As the meeting was adjourned and they were being dismissed, Gwen saw him lean towards Guenevere, and whisper, “You’ll help me figure out what a joust is, won’t you?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They filed out of the king’s quarters one by one – Dragoon and the Merlins all on Gaius’s heels to his quarters, saying something about potions and the horn, Guenevere and her husband to her quarters, Gwenhwyfar and her prince to hers. Leon departed alone, as fast as his legs would carry him.

Gwen watched them all go, hands clutched tightly in her lap, until it was just her and Arthur.

“Guinevere.”

She wrenched her eyes away from the doors, to the hard wood before her then along the length of it, until they finally settled on his. Arthur looked restless, hands clasped tightly in front of him. His fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach across for her, somehow.

“You must believe,” he said earnestly, “that I never wanted anything to happen to you. I truly thought…that I could make him see sense.” He sighed. “But you were right. Morgana never had to talk him into anything. I’m sorry.”

Gwen nodded. “I know.”

The corner of his mouth began to lift into a tired smile but it fell away when she spoke nothing further. He gave a little nod. “You have every right to be angry with me.”

“I’m not angry,” she said. “But, Arthur, I am not the only one your actions put in danger.”

“I know.” His fingers twitched again. “But I won’t make the same mistake again,” he promised. “I won’t give my father the chance to harm you.”

Gwen rubbed her lips together, looking down to her hands. “What if the others don’t succeed in retrieving the horn?” she asked quietly.

“They will.”

“But if they don’t?”

He looked lost again, terrified, just like when Merlin had spoken of what it would mean to destroy Uther’s ghost. Swallowing, he said, “I have to believe that they will.”

She sighed deeply, and said nothing.

“Guinevere…” He pushed his chair back, already halfway down the length of the table before he stopped, unsure. “You can’t think that I will let him harm you.”

“Arthur, you led him straight to me,” she said tightly.

“I know, I – ” He let out a ragged breath. “He’s my father,” he said helplessly. “I didn’t want to believe that this…is the kind of man he is. I acted without thinking, and I…I am sorry. Truly.”

She never doubted it. Her other doubts, however – they sprang like traps in the grass, snagging at her feet with every step she took.

“What did he say?” she asked. “Why does he want me dead?”

“That’s – that’s not important, it doesn’t matter.”

As if she didn’t already know the answer. “He thinks I’m not worthy of being queen, doesn’t he?”

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Arthur said.

The worst part of it was – maybe he did. Maybe, despite what Merlin, what Arthur said, somewhere deep down, the man who killed her father had a point.

Summoning all that supposed courage Guenevere praised her for, Gwen said, “Leon wondered about the tournament, if we should cancel it. I wonder…I wonder about our wedding.” She swallowed. “Should it still go on?”

Arthur swayed in the spot like she had struck him. “You no longer want to marry me?”

Tears stung her eyes. “I do,” she said, with all her heart. “But there is no way of knowing if the danger will have passed by then. And besides, I…I can’t help but think that maybe…” She didn’t know how to finish that sentence.

“Guinevere, if this is about what my father thinks – ”

“It’s not Uther.” _Not really._ “It’s the others,” she said, looking to the doors again. Beyond them, she imagined Guenevere, giving glorious speeches on how they were all born to be queens. And Gwenhwyfar, eyes shining in the candlelight when she said they were not.

“The truth is, I look at them and I wonder about myself.” She turned back to Arthur. “Am _I_ truly the queen that you and Camelot need?”

“There is no doubt in my mind.”

She drew a shaky breath, and finally admitted, “There is in mine.”

Arthur’s mouth opened but no sound left it, his brow creasing in a frown. “Why – ” He shook his head a little. “Why didn’t you say something?”

She rose from her own chair, pacing away, then spun back around, and shrugged. “All I ever wanted was to be your queen. All these years…I waited for you. So, how can I admit that…that now, I finally realize that maybe, _I_ don’t have what it takes to be queen? That this was truly never meant for _me?_ ”

Arthur’s eyes softened. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Arthur…”

“What does it matter,” he stepped closer, “that you are a servant? It doesn’t matter to me. It doesn’t matter to the knights – or the people.”

“I know it matters to some,” she said quietly. With more difficulty, she added, “It mattered to you, too, once.”

He stopped, his face crumbling. “You know I didn’t mean that.”

_Traps in the grass._ “Well, maybe you were right,” she said. “Maybe Agravaine was. Maybe Uther is.”

Arthur looked ready to deal with anything but this. “No, Guinevere…what I said then – I was wrong. Agravaine was wrong – my _father_ is most certainly wrong. Why are you talking like this?”

Her shoulders slumped. She tried to put it into words, struggled with it under Arthur’s increasing scrutiny, and in the end, what came out was, “I don’t know how to write summaries on grain reports.”

She had never seen him look more confused in her life. “Is – is that it?”

She huffed.

“Guinevere, you learn these things – it’s really not that hard – ”

“Not to you,” she said. “You’ve spent your whole life learning such things, preparing to be king.”

“Yet for all that, I made mistakes,” he argued. “And it’s not what’s going to make me a _good_ king.”

“No,” she agreed gently. “It is your heart that makes you a good king. Yet the importance of all that you _have_ been taught cannot be underestimated. Things that I never was.” She toyed with her betrothal band, smiling wanly. “There is so much that is expected of a queen. Things she must know and be able to do.”

Arthur listened, his face impassive. “Guinevere.” He pursed his lips, pressing a fist to his mouth. “You are the wisest person I know. You can’t tell me you didn’t already know all this.”

She shrugged. “I suppose I just…never realized how _much_ there is to know.”

“Has it made you change your mind?” he asked.

“I was wondering if it changed yours.”

“No.” He shook his head slowly. “Nothing changes the way I feel about you.”

“This isn’t just about us. Camelot deserves a queen who – at the very least, she should be impressive. Know the histories, the great families, the land – the _laws_.” She thought of Guenevere again. “Like the daughter of a king.”

“Oh, come on…”

“You can’t tell me we would be having this problem with Uther if I were more like _her_.”

Arthur chewed on his tongue, then simply sighed. “You’re not like her,” he said. “Isn’t that what you keep saying? So, what’s the point in thinking about it?”

“Are you really telling me,” Gwen asked, “that you haven’t thought about it at all?”

He went quiet for a while, looking to his shoes. “I’ve thought about many things,” he muttered, then lifted his head as if shaking it off. “But none of that’s important. All that matters,” he gave her a small, hopeful smile, “is that this will be over soon.”

Gwen smiled, even as her tears fell.

The trouble was, she feared that it would be truly over for _her._

“It’s alright,” Arthur soothed, hand out to reach for her, “it’s alright.”

She closed her eyes when his fingers touched her cheek. They wiped away her tears and trailed down her jaw, until he held her chin in his hand, knuckles gently grazing the skin underneath. Gwen leaned into him, touching her lips to his palm, then pulled away with a sigh.

“Guinevere?” He sounded uncertain.

“Until it _is_ over,” she said, “I think…I think you should at least consider postponing our wedding.”

Arthur’s arm slowly fell back to his side. “At _least?_ ”

“At least,” she whispered.

“There is nothing to consider,” his voice was thick. “I made you a promise.”

Gwen dabbed a finger under her eyes. “Your double and Dragoon may very well fail in their task. If it can even be done.”

“They won’t, and it can.”

“I want to believe that.” She nodded. “But things don’t always happen as we want them to.”

If they did, she would not be having be having this conversation with the man she loved a day before their wedding.

Arthur raked his fingers through his hair. “Well, what do you want me to say?” he finally let out. “That if it comes to it, I could destroy my father that way? Because I – I don’t know that I can,” he said, like it pained him to no end to confess it. “I…I don’t know.”

Gwen pressed her lips together, stifled her tears, and only said, “It’s alright, Arthur. I understand.”

He reached for her again. “My love – ”

“I think – ” She sniffled, stepping back. “I think it’s getting late. We should get some rest. And I’ve given you plenty to think about,” she added, turning on her heel to leave. “Goodnight, my lord.”

At the door, she couldn’t help but stop to look on him one last time. Under the light of the flickering candles, his eyes were wet.


	11. Chapter 10

Guenevere held her husband’s hand as they snuck down dark, unused corridors to the quarters that had been assigned to her. Though she set a brisk pace, Arthur’s curiosity slowed them down, until their brisk pace became barely more than a crawl.

When they did creep into the chambers through a side door that creaked on its hinges, his curiosity spread, to what were either worthless trinkets or priceless belongings of the royal family, sticking out in odd places and at odd angles. Guenevere suspected they had put her in the same room where they put everything else in this palace they didn’t know what to do with.

Arthur’s fingers slid away from hers, to rummage through the drawers of the desk. He pulled on the last drawer, and from it, pulled a dagger, its sheathe encrusted with jewels. “Whose do you reckon this is?”

“A lady’s, probably,” she indulged him.

He hummed agreeably, flipping it in his hand, before he cast another sweeping look around the quarters. “Is it just my imagination, or did they put you in a storeroom?”

“I’m beginning to think so, too, yes.”

A smile appeared beneath his beard. “Well, that will just not do,” he proclaimed with mock severity, discarding the dagger as he made his way back to her, hand out. “Did you tell them that you were the queen and that you will not stand for such treatment?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, slipping her hand in his again and sliding against him when he pulled her closer. “I told them that my husband would be here soon and that they would all pay dearly for this offense.”

His smile turned into a grin. “They will rue the day they were born,” he vowed.

Guenevere giggled when he softly pressed his mouth to hers, slipping her hands over his breastplate and around his shoulders. He sighed against her lips, then wrapped his arms around her, the cold metal of his armor hard against her ribs. He placed another gentle kiss on her lips before he brushed one against her forehead, and let out a deep breath that wafted through her hair.

“I did worry,” he said, as if continuing some previous conversation, no trace of teasing in his voice now. “You’ve been taken from me before.”

“It’s alright,” she soothed, playing with the ends of his hair. His eyes drifted shut. “ _I’m_ alright. You found me.” She kissed his cheek. “I knew you would.”

He turned his head to capture her lips again, then pulled her into a hug. “Never have any doubt,” he whispered.

Guenevere tucked her head into the crook his neck, breathing in deeply, and never said that she had been worried, too – if only for a moment, while his double interrogated her. That he had been delayed, somehow, that he had run into trouble along the way. Never that he did not search for her, though. And it had taken only a whisper from Gwenhwyfar then, a quiet, _“remember when he came for you last time,”_ in her ear, to make the worry disappear.

“And how _did_ you find me?” she asked, pulling back, and started loosening the belts that held his armor together when it occurred to her just how long he must have been in it. It _had_ been such a long day.

He gave her a grateful smile. “Well, the way you disappeared suggested teleportative magic from the start. Morgana confirmed the traces left behind had all the markings of you being pulled into a different world.” He shrugged. “After that, it was only a matter of searching every world in the universe until I found you.”

“ _Only_?” she echoed with a smile and received a tender one in return. Shaking her head a little, she moved to the belts at his back. “So, how many worlds did you go through before you found this one?”

“About thirty, I think.” He began working on his gauntlets. “Your formerly assassin self says hello, by the way.”

It constantly amazed her that, even in times like these, he still found ways to _chat_ with their doubles.

“Mm, and how is she?”

“Quite well.” He tossed the gauntlets on the table, followed by his breastplate. “She offered to come with us and help me find you.”

“Did she really?”

“She did. It’s been quiet for her since she became High Queen,” he said, weaponry and pieces of armor falling away as he talked. “I think she just wanted some adventure, really. She still wears that comb-dagger in her hair, you know.”

“While that’s always lovely,” Guenevere said, clasping her hands, “maybe you shouldn’t have mentioned it to the Guinevere of _this_ world.”

He winced. “You and Gwenhwyfar are both right,” he agreed. “You could have warned me, though.”

“There is only so much information you can give in thirty seconds.”

Arthur laughed a little, shedding the last of the armor, then rolled his shoulders with a groan. “Gods, that’s better. Here.”

He settled into the nearest chair, holding his hand out to her. She went readily, settling on his lap as she wound her arm around his shoulders, running her fingers along the muscles beneath his shirt. The fabric was damp under her fingers.

“You _have_ been too long in that armor,” she said.

He gave her a crooked grin. “Aren’t you glad Merlin enchants all my clothes not to smell?”

“Yes, I believe _I_ suggested that.”

“Well, we can’t _all_ smell like flowers all the time,” he said, burying his nose in her hair and letting out a deep, contended sigh.

“That’s because I _bathe_.”

“You wound me, my lady.”

She laughed under her breath, wiggling to make herself more comfortable. Arthur threw an arm over her legs, nestling her nicely against him, as his fingers drew languid patterns along her hip. If she had her way, they would never move.

“How are things at home?”

“Elibel is fine,” Arthur reassured knowingly. “She misses you, though.”

Rationally, she knew that a four-month-old babe’s concept of missing someone was probably limited to nonexistent. She broke into a grin nonetheless.

“Really?”

Arthur’s grin matched hers. “Really. Although,” he added, “it might be that she just keeps mistaking you for her mirror and misses seeing her own beautiful reflection.”

Guenevere giggled. Rationally, there was no reason for the idea to make such love and warmth unfurl in her chest either. But every time she looked on her daughter, so like her already, her heart filled with a pride she could not even begin to describe.

“She does look a lot like me, doesn’t she?”

Arthur nodded. “It’s a good job, too,” he said. “This beard would look terrible on a child.”

He made that joke every time. And every time, she laughed anyway.

Arthur stifled her laughter with his lips, kissing her until she sat boneless in his arms, her mind blissfully empty for a few glorious moments. She was tempted to never think of anything again.

Alas…

“You’ll be careful?”

Arthur pulled his head away from her neck, where he had been busy placing slow, open-mouthed kisses. He blinked at her change in tone, then smiled. “Of course. You don’t have to worry.”

Yet she couldn’t help but – mostly for herself, if she were honest. “And you’ll return quickly, won’t you?”

He pecked her lips, squeezing her side in reassurance. “It will only be a few hours,” he promised.

“And if they can’t find where she is?”

“Then Merlin can – our Merlin, obviously,” he said. “He can cast a spell to follow magic, which would surely lead to their Morgana eventually. There can’t be too many who practice it around these parts.”

That last part was spoken sadly, his lips pressing together. “Their Merlin says Uther is the reason it’s banned here,” he said more quietly. “He truly is a curse upon every world he’s in, isn’t he?”

Guenevere pressed a soft kiss to his temple. “At least it might be further evidence for Morgana’s Theory of Constants.”

“She’ll be so pleased,” Arthur deadpanned.

She probably would be, actually. If it meant she could say there was yet another invariable across the worlds. The thought of Uther never affected her as much as it did Arthur.

“If she is,” Guenevere said, “it will be because she cares for magic above all else. The Morgana of _this_ world cares for power and the throne of Camelot. She is dangerous.” With more urgency, she added, “You have to remember that.”

He bit his lip, looking away. “I’m not as careless with these things as you and Merlin think.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she assured quickly, “but, Arthur, you can’t tell me that the reason you offered the go on this quest is not just because you want to help, it is because you want to meet her. See for yourself what she is like here.”

“Is that really so bad?” he asked quietly.

“No. But you might not like what you find.”

He sighed, deep in thought, then shook it off. “Be that as it may...my first intent _is_ to help.” He smiled at her. “Perhaps have some fun, too.”

She combed her fingers through his hair. “Do we not have enough fun at home?”

“Oh, come on,” he enthused, “it’s a _joust!_ ”

She raised an eyebrow.

“The…meaning of which you will help me understand?” he added slowly.

Guenevere shook her head, desperately amused. “I had the opportunity to look through some books here,” she said, and never mentioned that she had also had the opportunity to nearly scare a man to death. “I think I’ve seen some writings on it. Two knights will race horses towards each other, holding up a lance. Their purpose is to use the lance to unhorse their opponent.”

Arthur blinked. “Is that it?”

“I believe so.”

“Well, I knew _that_!” He huffed. “I saw them doing it on the fighting grounds when we came here. I just didn’t…think that was _all_ there was to it.” Disappointment was written all over his face. “We do have more fun at home…”

Guenevere remembered seven-foot men swinging maces at her husband’s head and begged to differ. “If it is so easy, then you will at least help the king’s reputation by impressing everyone,” she consoled.

“Mm,” he agreed absentmindedly, winding the ends of her hair around his fingers.

She smiled faintly as she let her eyes go over him, the little purse of his lips and the crease in his brow. _He_ never had any fear.

“You’ll have to shave to pass for the Arthur of this world,” she commented. “Cut your hair a bit, too.” She raised her hand to run her knuckles along his beard. “It’s a shame, really,” she said softly. “I quite like you like this.”

“Merlin can regrow it for me,” he said immediately.

She hummed, still stroking his face, feeling the coarse whiskers under her fingertips. Quietly, with her heart suddenly in her throat, she asked, “Will he able to regrow my head after I’ve lost it, too?”

“Guenevere.” He caught her hand, lightly kissing her fingers. “You don’t have to do this,” he said without reproach. “You can return home. No one will blame you if you choose to be cautious.”

She almost accepted. Just nearly convinced herself that her husband’s understanding was absolution enough, that she was justified in wanting to just run and hide and damn everyone else. But it was a difficult thing to hold on to when her better selves practically breathed the same air as her.

“Perhaps this is not the time to be cautious,” she said. “Perhaps,” she took a deep breath, “it is the time to do the right thing.” _And be brave._

When Arthur’s mouth turned up into a proud smile, she already felt it.

“She is a good person.” Guenevere nodded resolutely. “She deserves all the help she can get. I knew she was in danger from the moment the first assassin attacked,” she confessed, eyes downcast. “I never said anything, not until Gwenhwyfar made it impossible not to. Even then, I… I resented her for it. I wanted to argue that we should keep out of it anyway and leave Guinevere to her fate, whatever it may be.”

Arthur’s chest rose beneath her hand in a deep sigh. “Our moments of weakness are forgiven if, in the end, we choose to correct our mistakes,” he said. “Isn’t that what you told me once?”

Guenevere’s mouth twitched. “So I have.”

“If that is true for me, then it must also be true for you.”

She did truly smile now. He always knew how to make her feel better. Dipping her head to kiss the spot above his heart, she said, “Thank you.”

He kissed her hair in return, then cocked his head. “Does this mean that you would be willing to admit that _Gwenhwyfar_ – ” he raised his eyebrows – “was _right?_ ”

She bit her lip. “On this one solitary occasion,” she allowed.

 Arthur chuckled, leaning back to rest his head on the back of the chair. Stroking her back, he softly asked, “Why are you always so hard with her?”

Guenevere sighed.

“She frustrates me,” she admitted, fiddling with the collar of Arthur’s shirt. “She…has the means to rise above all who have come before her.”

Her reputation already preceded her. She was the mighty Gwenhwyfar, wielder of Excalibur, known among beasts and men. Yet she could be so much more than what she was now, if she would just learn to use her head instead of her heart...

“To be not just a warrior,” Guenevere said, “but a queen. With a story in her own name that would last forever in the minds of men.” She shrugged. “The stuff of legend.”

Arthur put a finger under her chin, raising it up until she met his eyes. “You are the stuff of legend, too.”

She was more of a footnote in the story of one. Two, even.

Still, she smiled for her husband and leaned into his touch, letting him guide her head to rest on his shoulder.

“I love you,” he murmured.

She closed her eyes as he held her. “I love you, too.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“I will need two fingers of devil’s tear, a king’s cup of raven’s blood,” Dragoon was firing out ingredients, “your finest werewolf hair, and branches from a north-facing tree.”

Merlin blinked. “I only understood ‘north-facing tree’.”

Dragoon sighed. “In that case, I will need a piece of parchment and all the writings on transformative magic you have.”

Helplessly looking from Dragoon to Gaius and back, Merlin said, “I…have a book of spells under my bed?”

Dragoon sighed again, heavily. “I suppose that will do.”

_‘I suppose that will do,’_ Merlin mimicked behind his back as he went to fetch the book, making Gaius’s lip twitch in amusement. When he reemerged from his room, Emrys was swinging himself up to the second level by his bare hands. Merlin didn’t ask.

“Here you go.” He dropped the book before Dragoon with a thud, rattling the potions scattered across the desk. Wryly pursing his lips, Dragoon settled into the nearest chair – with what he probably thought was great dignity.

“Don’t let him get to you.” Emrys swung back down, a book of his own under his arm. “He thinks he’s better than everyone else.”

Dragoon never once looked up. “That’s funny, considering who _you_ follow.”

“Ah, but see,” Emrys said, taking a seat on the steps to Merlin’s room, “ _she_ actually does know better than ordinary men.”

“Time has yet to show that.”

“Legend _has_ foretold it.”

It went on and on, neither one of them looking up from their reading as they argued while Merlin’s head snapped from one to the other in utter bewilderment. (‘ _Legends are stories’ – ‘Legends are the wisdom of the ancients’ – ‘That she carries the name of an ancient legend does not mean she is a modern one’ – ‘Yet it does have meaning’ – ‘You lack critical thought’ – ‘You lack faith.’_ )

Desperately looking to Gaius for guidance, Merlin found him tearing up strips of old bedclothes and dropping them into a large bowl. The terrible realization that he was about to be left alone with his doubles gripped Merlin at once. “What are you doing?”

Gaius didn’t pause in his task. “I must go tend to Gwenhwyfar’s injuries now.”

“Good luck with that,” Emrys snorted.

Gaius smiled faintly. “Soldiers often do make the most difficult patients.”

“Oh, _she_ is not the difficult one.”

Merlin panicked a little but Gaius still moved away, with his bowl and his strips, and the door shut behind him before Merlin could find a way to try and beg him to stay. He gulped, looking from one doppelganger to the other. How did Gwen deal with this?

“This is useless,” Dragoon was muttering, flipping the pages carelessly. “None of these writings help me in any way.”

Merlin’s panic gave way to indignation. “You could always just ask me what you need,” he remarked. “I am quite powerful, you know.”

Dragoon turned to look at him, one bushy eyebrow rising. “Very well.” He shut the book. “What can you tell me of transformative and trans-mutative object magic in this world?”

“Er…”

“Would it be easier to mediate the change through that which carries transformative properties, such as werewolf hair, or through that which changes the nature of the thing, such as artefacts used in alchemy?”

“Oh, um – that – uh – right, well – ”

“What spells _exist_?”

“Uh…”

Dragoon rolled his eyes. “You’re of no more help than this book,” he concluded. “The state of sorcery in this world saddens me.”

“Well, excuse me,” Merlin snapped, “if Uther declared war on magic, and destroyed everything!”

Heavy silence fell.

“Forgive me,” Dragoon said after a while, repentant. “I should not have said that. It was thoughtless.”

“Yeah,” Merlin agreed, and tried to make it look like there weren’t sudden tears prickling his eyes. It broke his heart in ways he couldn’t have imagined, to know that a world existed where he knew to raise these questions, where the study of magic was so welcome and free that he knew the answers. He would probably sell his soul to live in it.

“Perhaps you should consider a simpler enchantment,” Emrys suggested.

“How do you mean?” Dragoon asked.

“The Horn is, in its own way, a living thing too, is it not?” Emrys shrugged. “Perhaps you should seek to enchant its _mind_ like you would enchant the mind of any living man.”

“Mm, yes,” Dragoon agreed. “Yes, that will work.” Without further comment, he flipped the book open once more and resumed his reading, muttering, _‘enchantments, enchantments…aha!’_

Merlin left him to it and brought his attention to Emrys instead, just as deep in his own reading. “And what are _you_ looking for?”

He glanced up at him, the barest of smiles at the corner of his mouth. “I’m trying to see if perhaps _this_ world holds answers as to how to restore my magic.”

Merlin froze. “Restore your magic?”

Emrys nodded. “Morgaine stole my magic a long time ago. I’ve spent years trying to find a way to get it back.”

“I can’t imagine,” Merlin said quietly. “I don’t know who I would even be without my magic.”

“It is a difficult question,” Emrys agreed, just as quietly.

“I keep telling you,” Dragoon spoke, “that the answer you seek is that you must go to the Crystal Cave.”

“And I keep telling you,” Emrys returned, “that there is no such place in my world.”

“Oh, um, here it – ” Merlin began but neither paid him any mind.

“There must be,” Dragoon insisted. “All magic came from somewhere and all magic is the same.”

“Magic exists in all things, it does not belong to a single place. And it is older than the time of men.”

“ _So_ _is the Crystal Cave._ That is what you must find.”

“It does not exist!”

“It exists here,” Merlin tried again – and was, again, ignored.

“It _must_ exist!”

“You of all people should know that not all worlds are the same.”

“But magic _is._ ”

“That doesn’t mean that in my world – ”

“It seems to me,” Merlin raised his voice, “that if all magic is the same, then what holds true in one world also holds true in the next. If the Crystal Cave cannot be found in your world, why can’t you just visit it in a different one to restore your magic?”

Emrys and Dragoon froze. They looked to him then each other, like fish out of water.

“Um – ”

“Well – “

“It, uh – ”

“That – ”

“Might actually work,” Dragoon admitted weakly, eyes wide like his entire understanding of the world had just been turned upside-down.

Merlin looked down on them both with an air of supreme superiority. “Who’s backwards now?”

Emrys jumped to his feet, closing the book with a thud. “You said it exists here?”

“Yes – ”

“Where can I find it?”

_Wait, no –_ “You can’t just go looking for it _now_.”

“Try and stop me.”

Merlin didn’t particularly fancy that option. “The valley of the Fallen Kings,” he conceded, then quickly added, “It is a place overrun with bandits and thieves.”

Emrys raised an eyebrow. “Do you really believe that _I_ do not know how to take care of myself?” he asked. He crossed his arms for emphasis as he said it, too, flexing muscles that Merlin didn’t even know _existed_ on his body.

“That is a very good point, yes.”

“It is still unwise that you go alone,” Dragoon said. “Especially in an unfamiliar world. Wait a while then ask your prince to accompany you.”

Emrys looked ready to argue, tightly-coiled like a man just bursting with desire to spring into action, but nodded nonetheless. “You’re right. I shall wait a moment.”

Waiting meant pacing, evidently – and turning over every vial, quill and trinket in the quarters to occupy his hands, which seemed to almost shake with excitement at times. To see a man suddenly filled with such new hope was as heartening as it was worrisome.

“I’ll call for Arthur in a bit,” he was saying as he went. Merlin wasn’t sure if he was talking to them or to himself. “Give him and Gwenhwyfar some time.”

Merlin smiled at that bit. “He loves her, doesn’t he?”

“The man performed magic he’s not even capable of just to get to her,” Emrys said, looking at him over his shoulder. “What do you think?”

Merlin hummed – then frowned. “Not capable of?”

“He has magic, but there were limits to his power,” Emrys said. “Certainly too many to ever face Morgaine and win. I’ve been…trying to train him, show him how to grow his power, the best I could. I’ve been teaching him magic, helping him learn its ways, since the day we met.”

His stories broke Merlin’s heart in unimaginable ways, too.

He cleared his throat. “I do remember his queen,” he nodded to Dragoon, “saying something about you not having enough power to cause a ripple at the gates of the worlds or something such.”

Emrys rolled his eyes. “She says that every time Gwenhwyfar gets a rise out of her.”

“But I don’t think she will be able to say it _anymore_ ,” Merlin commented.

“Indeed not.” Emrys grinned. “I kept telling him that the key to his true power was love. Finally, he listens to me.” He cocked his head. “I suppose I should thank you, in a way.”

That was certainly better than wanting him dead for inadvertently abducting his commander without warning.

“Although,” Emrys added, “you had condemned me to the two most insufferable days of my life.”

And there it was. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s alright. You cannot be blamed for Arthur being…Arthur.”

Dragoon groaned. “I’ve spent the last two days blindly traipsing through thirty-two different worlds with him breathing down my neck,” he complained. “Does he care that I am now an old man and that the magic required to travel between worlds is exhausting? No!”

“Unless you’ve also had him miss the mark and take you to some godforsaken forest at first, then nearly get you eaten by griffins,” Emrys deadpanned, “you cannot know my pain.”

“He nearly got us eaten by wilddeoren once.” Merlin was nodding. “Also because he was trying to find Gwen.”

Emrys gave him a look of sympathy then closed his eyes, muttering, “This is worse than the time he tried to impress her by fighting a giant.”

“He fought a giant?” Merlin let out.

“Mm. To show Gwenhwyfar what a fine warrior he was.”

“Did he win?”

“Goddess, no. The giant flung him into a tree.”

Well, that had to have hurt.

“I do not think his intent was to impress her this time,” Dragoon commented.

“Nevertheless, she _will_ be impressed,” Emrys said. “Though,” he added with a grin, “it will be the funniest thing to watch her admit something good came out of the travels she abhors.”

“You don’t seem to,” Merlin observed. “Abhor them, I mean.”

Emrys shrugged. “I like the stories.”

“And I,” declared Dragoon, “have the spell we need.” He looked up. “We should fetch our Arthurs.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Gwenhwyfar sat in a chair of her guest chambers, watching as Gaius laid out clean strips of linen on the table then poured fresh water into a bowl, before turning to her with the gentle look of a practiced healer.

“Would you like me to clean your wounds now?” he asked.

“This will suffice, thank you,” it was Arthur who answered, moving from his spot in the corner. He brushed past Gaius, silently laying a hand over the supplies, and gave a single nod. Sometimes, it still impressed her how much he managed to convey with so little.

Gaius recognized the dismissal and bowed, though his gaze lingered as he took his leave. Gwenhwyfar had seen the same look in Merlin’s eyes when they rested on Arthur: amazement and some befuddlement, and perhaps something wistful, too.

Arthur said little as the doors shut behind Gaius, grabbing a chair to settle opposite her. He looked her over, appraising, before lifting a hand to her hair first.

She could not look away from him while he worked, his expression grave as he carefully combed through the strands and picked out the glass. The pieces of it clinked softly against the table each time he flicked one away.

“I can still hardly believe you’re here,” she said softly.

His eyes slipped down to hers. “Did you really expect me to do nothing when you disappeared?”

“No.” She swallowed. “But I never expected you would find a way into another world, either.” More quietly, she added, “I thought the power to do such a thing was still beyond your reach.”

Arthur held her gaze, his eyes a stunning blue in the candlelight. She could feel it still, the thrum of magic that seemed to surround him, an energy that spread and filled the air. When she raised her hand to press her fingers to his wrist, her skin crackled.

His eyes drifted shut, fingers tightening in her hair. She should have dropped her hand but didn’t, continuing to draw slow circles into his pulse point. The magic that ran through his veins now touched her, too, as intoxicating and addictive as the sweetest wine she had ever drunk.

She had never felt such power come from him before.

“This is amazing,” she said, her voice hushed, though it did nothing to hide her excitement. “You will surely prove to be more than a match for Morgaine now. It is everything we hoped Emrys could come to teach you.”

Arthur’s eyes slowly opened. “Emrys does say that you never know the true extent of your power until you are desperate.”

“Emrys says that power comes from love,” Gwenhwyfar corrected without thinking.

Arthur rubbed his lips together. “So he does.”

Gwenhwyfar gulped, suspended in the moment as Arthur slipped his hand from her hold to reach for a scrap of the linen and dip in the water.

“How did you know where to find me?” she asked as he pressed the wet cloth to her forehead, cleaning her wound.

“I always know where to find you.” He said it like it was the simplest thing. “It didn’t take long to realize what had happened,” he went on, wiping the blood that had dripped down her cheek. “Emrys and Gwaine came back from the hunt to tell me they had seen a bright light above the trees, at around the time you disappeared. I put it together pretty quickly after that.”

“I knew you would.” Gwenhwyfar nodded quickly, the knot of guilt she carried easing slightly. She had told herself a dozen times, that because he would put it together, that because she knew he would, she was not a horrible person for willingly prolonging his suffering.

“But when I first felt it – ” Arthur’s voice caught and her guilt returned tenfold. He swallowed. “When I first felt it, I thought I had truly lost you.”

“I’m sorry,” she said thickly.

Arthur nodded, tossing the cloth aside. He brought his hand to her forehead again, open palm hovering over her hairline.

“ _Ic hæle þina þrowunga_ ,” he chanted softly, eyes golden, and the sting of the cut disappeared as her skin mended itself under the warm touch of his magic.

His hand trailed down the side of her face, knuckles grazing her cheek until he put one under her chin, raising it higher. His eyes dropped to her mouth, and Gwenhwyfar shuddered when his thumb pressed to her split lip.

“ _Wel cene hole_ ,” he whispered and her eyes closed, the warmth spreading all through her body now. Little of it had to with magic as her mouth parted under his touch, a shaky breath escaping her. Arthur’s thumb tugged on her lip as it fell away and she unconsciously licked over the spot.

Arthur’s breath caught, before he was suddenly pushing his chair back. “All done.”

She blinked and he was standing by the table, putting the supplies back in order. The used cloths dropped back in the bowl with a loud splash.

Gwenhwyfar cleared her throat. “Thank you.”

Arthur was neatly winding the clean bandages around his hand and setting them aside. “Of course.”

He wasn’t looking at her but his profile showed his jaw working in the dim light, his expression still grave and troubled, and it inevitably tugged at her heart.

So she told him funny stories to make him smile, of how she had knocked the great knights of this Camelot into the dirt one by one, and the uncomprehending look in Gwaine’s double’s eyes just before he had gone face-first into the mud.

Finally, Arthur’s mouth ticked up at the corner. “So, you’ve had fun,” he said softly.

_Oh._ Gwenhwyfar sighed. “Arthur – ”

“What are we still doing here, Gwen?”

Only he ever called her that.

She stood, too, leaning to catch his eye. “I didn’t choose to be here,” she said, “but I promised to help Guinevere. I intend to keep that promise.”

He did look at her now, carefully impassive. “And none of it has to do with how much you hate Uther?”

She swallowed. “It could easily have been anyone else that wished her harm. My intentions wouldn’t change.”

“Would I still have found you engaged in battle as you were?” he asked. “The queen is right, you know. He is not…he is not _my_ father.”

Gwenhwyfar pressed her lips together. It was an easy thing to say. But every time she thought of his name alone, every time she remembered the ghost’s face, all she saw was _her_ father, _his_ face streaked with tears as he carried a small, wet body in his arms.

“Elyan is here,” her voice shook.

Arthur’s eyes softened. “Gwen…”

“He is a knight. All grown.” She shrugged, blinking back tears. “He looks exactly like our mother.”

Arthur shifted closer to her, like he might try and hold her, but then did nothing further.

Gwenhwyfar dabbed under her eyes. “I may react strongly at times, but this is not about Uther.” She held her head higher. “I do not deny that I wanted to leave before, but I _will_ stay until it is over.”

The hardness returned to Arthur’s eyes. “You are in enough danger at home,” he said. “Do you really need to further risk your life for a stranger? Someone whose fate doesn’t concern you in the slightest?”

“You told me once,” she countered, “that either we all matter, or none of us do. That includes _her_. And,” she added before he could try and argue, “you’ve no reason to preach to me when you extended her help, too.”

“The woman looked certain she was going to die, I’m not _heartless_.”

“Exactly.”

He sighed. “In all this, did you ever stop to wonder,” he said, “what would become of the rest of us if something happened to you?” As if he couldn’t quite say it aloud, he added, for her mind only, “ _What would become of me?”_

All the will to fight drained from her.

Gwenhwyfar’s fingers rose slowly of their own accord, to come and rest above the familiar spot above his heart, blindly tracing the lines of the mark beneath his tunic. His breathing faltered.

“I’ve thought of you often,” she said quietly, “since I’ve been here. How…my absence must have felt to you.” She offered him a faint smile. “I wished so badly to be out of here at first. You must believe it is because I wanted to return safely to our people. And because I thought of you.”

The troubled look in his eyes slowly cleared, like it had in the throne as he held her, to instead become the one she ran from and loved best at the same time. Like she was the very heart that beat under her hand.

Arthur bent his head, falling to her like there was no way to help it, and her eyes fluttered shut when his lips touched hers, sweet and warm.

Guenevere called her impulsive. She couldn’t deny it, not when her fingers fisted in Arthur’s shirt to hold him closer, and her mouth opened under his to deepen their kiss. He tasted like magic on her tongue.

He moved when she did, wrapping his arms around as she pushed a knee in between his, her free hand gripping the back of his neck. Thought drained from her mind until there was nothing else on it but the feeling of him, the desire to have him take her – to the bed, the table, the wall, she didn’t much care. These chairs looked sturdy enough to do the job, too. She was already half-poised to push him into one before she remembered herself.

She broke away, resting her forehead against his. “We said we wouldn’t anymore,” she whispered.

Arthur stilled under her hands, catching his breath. He lingered for only a moment, eyes closed, then pulled away. “You’re right.” He nodded a little. “You’re right…”

He moved away from her, and her right mind slowly returned with the distance he put between them. She stood in silence, watching him run a hand over his face.

“I am sorry,” he said. “I got carried away. It won’t happen again.”

She had once made that same claim.

All the wrong images went through her head, of nights spent in her tent, of Arthur pulling her in and Arthur pressing her hand to his heart as he asked her to let him speak the words that would bind him to her; of her silly daydreams and the pretty dresses in Guinevere’s closet.

Gwenhwyfar promptly smothered all of them.

“It’s alright,” she said. “These have been a trying couple of days.”

He agreed with a sigh that went through his whole body. Then suddenly cocked his head. “Emrys is calling for me.”

Only the Goddess knew what that was about. Gwenhwyfar nodded nonetheless. “You should go.”

He didn’t move right away, gaze lingering on her, but in the end, he slowly nodded in kind and made his way out.

The moment the door shut behind him, Gwenhwyfar sunk into a chair, and buried her face in her hands.


	12. Interlude 2: Gwenhwyfar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And when I say interlude, I do mean a literally 10k word vomit about this random ass A/G AU. Idek anymore you guys, I fail at so many things in this life.

The wind carried the sounds of the battle even over the batting of Kilgharrah’s powerful wings, moving under her as she held on to his neck.

Below, the planes and hills were alight with the soldiers’ torches, flickering in the moonlight and casting a light on the banners they wielded. Five armies meeting in a single battlefield was a sight to see from this high up.

The black wolf of Caerleon clashed with the horned lion of Nemeth, the former’s purple banners swallowed by an ever-growing sea of forest green. If Gwenhwyfar remembered it right, they had started this war as allies.

The grey wolf of Odin’s kingdom tore at them both, its yellow flags advancing like old teeth sinking into mottled purple-greenish flesh, in revenge for the death of some unfortunate prince, under some unfortunate circumstances. She’d forgotten what they were by now.

She never forgot who _her_ enemy was, though, the one that had started all this to begin with. The golden dragon of Camelot billowed on a flag as red as the blood of her people the Pendragons had spilled, where it set fire to Odin’s flank, and where it crowded _her_ army in a trap.

The Druids bore no colors, black as the night itself, and it was because of it that she saw them so easily, caught in a whirlwind and folding under Camelot’s attack, like a dark triskelion winding and crumbling in the red.

It might as well have been her heart crumbling, as she told Kilgharrah to land atop the highest hill, yet untouched by the battle, and let her dismount.

Her heart sank further still as she only watched them lose, standing in the shadow of Kilgharrah’s massive body. She blamed herself, for getting captured by one of Morgaine’s captains, for being dragged away from this battle before it had begun and leaving her people without a leader and without hope. She felt that she had only been returned now to witness their defeat. (When the story was later retold, of course, it said that she had returned to save them.)

“We’re going to lose,” she said hollowly, as the three arms of the triskelion broke and sank.

“If that were true, I would not have saved you from the witch.”

She cast her eyes, welling with tears, over her shoulder to meet Kilgharrah’s big, yellow ones. “Thank you for that,” she said, and even faintly smiled at the memory of him swooping down from the heavens to break her free. “You took a great risk. Morgaine could have taken you.” She swallowed. “Like she took Aithusa.”

Kilgharrah looked to the skies, where two of Morgaine’s dragons circled and breathed fire down upon the soldiers. Mercifully, both their scales shone golden, instead of pure, blinding white like Aithusa’s. It grieved Gwenhwyfar to no end, that Morgaine wielded not only great magic but the power to command dragons, to submit them to her will even when it was not their own.

Sometimes, Gwenhwyfar thought that, if the Goddess wanted her to win, she would not have put her at such a disadvantage to start with.

“The risk I took was necessary,” Kilgharrah spoke at length. “The future of Albion depends on the outcome of this war. Morgaine cannot be allowed to remain on the throne of Camelot. The Druids must be the ones to put an end to her.”

“We can’t!” Gwenhwyfar whirled around, and the tears fell down her cheeks. “She is too powerful! Camelot is too powerful! We cannot defeat them!”

“ _You_ must,” Kilgharrah said, and she gulped. “I did not risk my freedom for any Druid, young commander, I risked it for _you_. I cannot know for certain, but the destiny of this land may very well rest on your shoulders, Gwenhwyfar,” he went on. “You must find a way to prevail.”

Those same shoulders of hers slumped. “I can’t. I can’t face Morgaine, much less prevail against her.” She shook her head. “Much less in battle. I do not have the power.”

Kilgharrah was silent for a moment, then raised his head. “Then I shall grant you some.”

She frowned. “What?”

“Hold up your sword.”

Even as she automatically moved to obey, drawing it from the scabbard that hung at her back, she asked, “What are you doing?”

“I cannot tell you which choice to make to defeat Morgaine once and for all,” Kilgharrah said, “but if it is advantage in battle that you most need now, then that – that, I can give you.”

Gwenhwyfar raised her sword even before she truly understood what was happening. It floated up, out of her grip, to dance in the air before Kilgharrah.

“I will forge you a weapon of great power,” he said, “that is sure to bring you victory in battles to come. But this sword,” he added, “is forged for you, and you alone.”

Her heart beat to the rhythm of the war drums, so loudly that it drowned the sounds of the battle and the soldiers in her ears. She understood now what he proposed. To possess such a weapon was not be taken lightly, nor was Kilgharrah’s willingness to grant it to her. Even as she doubted she was meant for it, the idea returned an old, familiar feeling to her, that this war had nearly taken away entirely. Hope. To finally, _finally_ have peace.

So, Gwenhwyfar swallowed, let out a shaky breath, and nodded once. (Later words retold that she had accepted this – nay, demanded it, with all the surety and conviction of the greatest of legends.)

Kilgharrah reared his great head, and Gwenhwyfar watched transfixed, as mighty flames came out of his mouth to engulf her sword.

The fire burned brighter than anything else on this battlefield, and Gwenhwyfar’s breath caught as it licked at the blade, changing it before her very eyes, and as a great swell of magic burst from it, unlike anything she had ever felt. _Great power, indeed._

She squinted her eyes against the light, and within it, saw her sword turn to gold and runes appear in the metal. _“Take me up,”_ they said.

So she did, gritting her teeth and reaching with both hands into the fire, to close around the pommel and pull it from the flames. They subsided but she remained standing, just before she would run off to join the battle, her new blade glinting in the moonlight as it pointed to the skies.

It did not feel like a blade at all anymore, but almost like a part of her, almost like a mere extension of her arm. (She would learn that it was, in fact, so much more than that.)

Gwenhwyfar chuckled faintly. “Huh.”

 

***

 

At the foot of the hill, Arthur slung Gwaine’s arm over his shoulder and dragged him away, yelling for the rest of his men to retreat. All ten of them.

As he listened to Gwaine mutter about his hopes that the afterlife was at least filled with wine, mead, and pretty men and women, he wondered what he had been thinking, running into this battle. He disowned his sister, fled his castle, and was followed by less than a dozen of his men – the only ones who would rather pledge their swords to his cause than Morgaine’s. He at least owed it to them to keep them alive long enough to see this great Camelot of the future he made them believe in.

“You’re not going to die,” he told Gwaine as he pressed forward.

What had he hoped? That he and his handful of men would somehow make a difference upon this battlefield? That they would manage to put a dent in Morgaine’s forces with their great skill and sheer power of will alone?

Yes, he had, he groused at himself, and berated himself for his folly. He needed more than a righteous cause and the faith of ten men to win.

He needed allies, was what he needed.

The top of the hill was set alight with a sudden burst of fire and Arthur stopped dead. On the hill, was a dragon, breathing fire upon a sword suspended in the air. In front of it, stood a woman, a long dark braid of hair falling down her back and a serpent marked upon her cheek.

She reached with her hands into the fire before it had even fully died out, pulling the sword from the flames and pointing it to the high heavens. It shone golden under the light of the moon.

Arthur stared, slack-jawed, Gwaine’s dead weight still hanging off his arm. “Who is _that?_ ”

 

***

 

“That was amazing,” Emrys gushed like an excited boy, even as he wrapped bandages around Ruadan’s head wound. Ruadan, too out of it to truly partake in this conversation, merely grunted in agreement.

“Did you hear Odin’s army sound retreat the moment they saw it?” asked Gogfran the half-giant, undeterred by the dozen arrow tips still sticking out of him.

“What will you name it?” Kara piped in with all of her youthful innocence, even as she was helping Mordred pull the arrows out of Gogfran’s back.

Despite the loss this battle caused that weighed heavy on her shoulders, Gwenhwyfar smiled at them, huddled in this tent and tending to each other’s wounds. That she might inspire them to fight brought her great pride, but they too inspired her in turn, still carrying hope and excitement despite all that they had suffered. Maybe they would prevail after all.

“Commander.”

The excited chatter ceased. Gwenhwyfar turned to the tent’s entrance, where the stranger she had come to know tonight stood. Arthur, he’d said his name was, when they had come upon each other on the battlefield – well, he had come upon her, really.

She had met him as she fought her way through Camelot’s forces, pushing them to retreat. A handful of soldiers had been closing down on her from both sides, and she had swung her blade at them, only to watch them fly back through the air before it had even touched them, first those on the right, then those on the left.

She had turned around, and there was Arthur, hand still up as the golden glow in his eyes subsided.

“May I have a word?” he was asking now.

Gwenhwyfar acquiesced, following him out.

“I wanted to thank you again,” he said as they walked through the camp side by side, “for allowing my men to tend to their injuries here.”

“It is in the nature of the Druids to offer help and shelter to all those who need it,” she said kindly.

He glanced at her, smiling faintly. “So I have heard.”

She smiled, too. “How are they?”

“They should make a full recovery,” Arthur said, sounding relieved.

“Good,” she said. “I’m glad.”

They came to stand at the camp’s highest point, offering the view to the tents that littered the grounds as far as the eye could see.

“I should thank you as well,” Gwenhwyfar said. “For how you helped me during the battle.”

“My debt of gratitude by far exceeds yours,” he dismissed. “You looked like you had the matter well in hand, with or without my assistance.”

“It’s the thought that counts,” she said, trying not to grin. The unexpectedly good outcome of this battle was truly doing wonders for her mood.

Arthur bit his lip, eyes shining with what might have been amusement, before they slipped to her back, where her new blade was neatly sheathed in its scabbard.

“It was impressive, what you did,” he said softly. “Your people are right to be excited.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Were you eavesdropping?”

“No?”

She shook her head, chuckling under her breath.

“Even if I had not heard it, I would have guessed it. A weapon as powerful as this,” Arthur went on, “is sure to bring you great glory in the battles to come.”

Gwenhwyfar looked over to him. “I did not forge this weapon for the glory of battle. It is not victory we seek,” she said. “We fight for peace.”

Arthur met her eyes again, his tone carefully neutral as he asked, “In the end, is it not the victorious who decide what peace should look like?”

“That’s not peace, it’s tyranny,” Gwenhwyfar countered.

“Yet you do hope you will win this war,” Arthur pointed out.

“Only to put an end to the forces that have caused it in the first place,” she said. “I believe that we can all coexist in peace. That what people, wherever they come from, truly want is to just walk free and without fear. All I hope to do, is to clear the path for such a future, that has been denied to most since the Pendragons came to power.” She shrugged. “Beyond that, who sits on the throne of Camelot or any other is none of my concern.” Whatever Emrys, and sometimes Kilgharrah, liked to say.

Arthur was watching her keenly. There was something about it – there was something about _him_ , really, something irrevocably curious.

He had come from nowhere, bearing no marks of any kingdom, and with only a handful of men. A mercenary, perhaps? Caught in the middle of a messy battle through either poor judgement or happenstance. Yet a chain made of what was surely pure gold peeked from beneath his tunic, and he stood tall and proud, with his hands clasped behind his back and far more grace than she had ever seen in a mercenary. He was far more handsome than any mercenary she had ever seen, too, but that was neither here nor there.

That he was a sorcerer on top of it all was a curious thing, too. The magic she sensed in him was young, as he was, raw and untrained, unlike the kind she sensed in some of her people – nothing like what she could once sense in Emrys, before Morgaine had taken it away.

She supposed that a handsome, noble-looking mercenary with magic was not the strangest thing she had encountered in this life. But she had _never_ had a mercenary look at her with such intensity before.

She cleared her throat. “So,” she asked, “what brought _you_ into this war? Where do you come from?”

He shifted from one foot to the other. “Camelot.”

Like so many others, she supposed. She was of Camelot, too, really, as were her kind. They had been for for centuries, until Uther Pendragon decided that they were impostors.

Gwenhwyfar made to inquire further, before the two things she did know about him came together in her mind. Unease slithered up her spine. “Arthur of Camelot?” she asked slowly.

Though he didn’t move an inch, there was no mistaking the discomfort in his expression.

She reached and grabbed for the golden chain around his neck, pulling it out from under his tunic. The pendant held the image of dragon, roughly carved into the gold, that twinkled in the light of the stars and campfires. _The royal seal of the Pendragons._

She threw it back at him and drew her sword without a moment’s hesitation, pointing it straight at his heart. “You’re Prince Arthur of Camelot.”

He stiffened, looking from the tip of the blade then up to her, rubbing his lips together. “I was hoping we might talk about this.”

“You and I have nothing to talk about,” she spat, as the warriors nearest to them drew their own weapons at the sight, inching closer to form a half-circle.

Arthur’s eyes flickered from them and back to her. “Gwenhwyfar – ”

“What is your true purpose here?” she demanded.

The full weight of her mistake came down upon her as she said it. The only reason they had withstood Camelot for so long were the powerful protections that kept their camp hidden, even from the likes of Morgaine. And now she had let her brother right into the heart of it, where he could lead the entire army straight to them. She had put everyone in peril by being too naïve and trusting.

All the confidence that had swelled in her since Kilgharrah had forged her sword drained from her. So much for them prevailing.

_See what the men he brought with him are doing,_ she barked an order at Lancelot, closest to her, who further relayed it to three warriors who took off in a run.

Arthur’s chest swelled against her sword as if he readied to speak and she promptly pressed it further into his skin.

“Did you hope to lead your sister to us?” she asked, fighting the angry tears that welled in her eyes. She hated that her voice shook slightly. Goddess, she was such a fool. “So she could finally finish what your father started?”

Arthur’s face twisted as if in distress. “I am not a spy,” he said with fervor. “You must believe me.”

“I don’t have to believe a word you say.”

He drew a sharp breath. “Morgaine didn’t send me. She wants me dead as much as she does you – I left Camelot,” he barreled on before she could speak. “I disowned her, and everything she stands for.”

Gwenhwyfar pressed her lips together. “I am meant to take your word as the truth, when you are the son of the man who killed my brother?”

His face fell. “I truly am sorry,” he said, and she hated that he sounded so genuine. “But I am no longer my father’s son any more than I am Morgaine’s brother. Please believe me.”

She wanted to. That was the worst part. There was something about him indeed, something that made her speak to him so freely in the first place, that made her want to believe him now. Either by its own mind or that foolish part of _hers_ , her blade eased its pressure on his heart.

_Gwenhwyfar,_ Lancelot spoke into her mind. _What do you want us to do?_

Her hand trembled slightly around the pommel and she tried to hide it, as she tried to hide the tears that still welled in her eyes.

_I don’t know,_ she admitted, only to Lancelot.

_What does your heart tell you?_ He asked. _You have good instincts, Gwenhwyfar, I have seen it time and again. You should rely on them now._

She swallowed, still looking into Arthur’s eyes. His gaze never wavered, unerringly earnest and genuine, and slowly, as if guided by a careful hand, she lowered her sword.

It was only when it pointed safely to the ground that Arthur breathed in relief. “Thank you.”

Gwenhwyfar gulped, looking away for the first time. _Send scouts to check the perimeter,_ she told Lancelot, and knew it lacked some of its commanding edge. _Look to the skies for any signs of Morgaine’s dragons._

Lancelot nodded, and took the others with him to see it done.

When it was just her and Arthur left, she finally spoke aloud again. “This doesn’t mean I trust you. My _lord_.” She took care to speak the title with as much disdain as she could muster.

“I understand,” he said simply. After a moment, he cleared his throat. “You asked me before, what my purpose was here. I had hoped, um, to make you see that…we are natural allies.”

She did look at him again, out of sheer surprise. He was certainly _bold_ , she’d give him that.

“There would be nothing natural about this alliance,” she said.

“I disagree.” He took a step closer, then reconsidered at her warning look. “I wish to see Morgaine dethroned as much as you do. And you said,” his tone gentled, “that you hope for peace. So do I. I believe in a Camelot that is fair and just for all. That it belongs to all those who wish to call it home, not just those who one person deems worthy. And I wish,” he added with conviction, “for a future where this land might be spoken of, not because of the strife that divides us, but the peace that unites us. I am as willing to fight for that as you are.”

Her heart fluttered in her chest. Maybe it was a trick of her nerves, but her sword seemed to vibrate the faintest bit in her hand, too.

_Use your head,_ she reminded herself, and of course, the moment she did, it became clear what he was truly asking for. “You want me to help you take the throne of Camelot?”

He shrugged. “You said you do not care who sits on it.”

She chuckled bitterly. “You think that I would strike down one Pendragon only to pave the way for another?”

He deflated a little. “I told you I do not think of myself as one of them anymore.”

“You truly expect me to believe,” she asked incredulously, “that you would abandon all that your father preached and all of his legacy, just like that?”

Arthur rubbed his lips together. “I loved my father,” he said quietly, nodding. “I loved Morgaine, too. But…it never changed what they were.” He shrugged. “And I tried, believe me, I tried to make them see things differently. _Especially_ my father. It was just beyond my ability.”

He sighed, resigned. “So, in the end, I had to make a choice. The only one that was right. My father is dead now so I can only condemn his memory, but my sister…my sister leaves me no choice but to forget that I was ever her brother. And I must treat her as such. It is as simple as that.”

Her traitorous heart fluttered again.

“Because of her own choices, we are now inevitably enemies,” Arthur said, “and I believe that it, inevitably, makes you and I friends.”

She…really wouldn’t go that far.

“I will do everything in my power to prove it to you,” he added, as if sensing her thoughts.

It was at times like these that she wondered why anyone had chosen her to lead this fight. Yes, the druidic teachings placed promises of great things on her name, but more often than not, she wondered if they had all, as a sort, just gotten too drunk one night and made a huge mistake. Then dragged the likes of Kilgharrah into it.

Because no one in their right mind would ever place the decision to trust Arthur, son of Uther the Tyrant, on her conscience. But, “ _the destiny of this land may very well rest on your shoulders_ ,” Kilgharrah had said, and, _“trust your instincts,”_ Lancelot had, and so, she supposed, it was the best she could do for now. At least until she could find Emrys to talk her out of it. (He never did.)

At length, she sheathed her blade again, and said, “You can start by cleaning after the wounded.”

She was not above admitting that it was only out of pettiness that she had given him the most thankless task in this camp – that he would, obviously, perform under the watchful eye of at least ten of her warriors, assuming the scouts reported nothing amiss beforehand.

Arthur took it readily nonetheless, even smiling a bit. “As you wish.”

“Good.” She nodded. “Yes. Alright.”

She didn’t know what to do next. She didn’t want to stay and she couldn’t leave him unsupervised either, but, as she fidgeted from the uncertainty of it all, Arthur slowly extended his hand to her.

Gwenhwyfar sighed. _Here goes nothing,_ she thought, and clasped his arm like she would an ally’s.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

One year later, he held her arm again, only this time it was to keep it from reaching for Excalibur.

“He’s only going for his purse,” Arthur said.

He was right, of course, and where he sat at the long table in the middle of their camp, his double did indeed pull only a linen purse from his belt, the contents of which he was now showing off to the rest of the gathered crowd. Gwaine looked around, then slid two coins into his pocket.

“You’re right,” she sighed, and relaxed her arm. Arthur’s fingers slid away from it only slowly.

“Why is it,” he asked, “that whenever someone who looks like me shows up at this camp, you always assume it is somehow a ploy of Morgaine’s?”

The corner of her mouth lifted into a reluctant smile. “She has not tried to strike against us in half a year,” Gwenhwyfar said. “You can understand why I am wary.”

“Of course,” he agreed. “But even you must admit that if Morgaine had somehow managed to find us, the great weapon she would send to destroy us would not be,” he paused for a moment, “them.”

_They_ were three. And they had come to meet themselves in a different world, apparently.

As she watched the one they called their king – the one who bore Arthur’s likeness –, she did have to admit that he was no formidable weapon. Unlike her Arthur, he had a beard that made it look like a squirrel had died on his face and sat with his elbows on the table, shoulders slumped instead of straight. Unlike her Arthur, he laughed at everything and never shut up about anything, and thought that spitting in the face of the balance of the worlds was fun and educational. Unlike her Arthur, the first thing he had said upon meeting her was, “You look like my wife.”

He had brought said wife forward, too, a splitting grin on his face – like this was all terribly exciting, somehow –, and Gwenhwyfar’s eyes slipped to her now, where she sat quietly next to her husband, dressed in a queen’s clothes from head to toe.

The Traveler and his wife could not be more different than her and Arthur, but when they exchanged a silent glance and a soft smile, she swore she saw herself and hers.

Something tightened deep in Gwenhwyfar’s chest and she swallowed, then studiously avoided looking at Arthur. “I wish the others weren’t so taken by them,” she said.

Not all of them, granted, but enough that it irked her – including Emrys, who bit into one of the coins being passed around, for reasons she could not comprehend, and earned himself a disgusted look from _his_ double. Merlin, he’d said his name was, and Emrys had laughed, saying, “what sort of a name is _that?_ ”

“It’s been a while since something exciting happened around camp,” Arthur said. “I think they’re just enjoying the novelty of it.”

“But we are Druids,” she despaired. “We cannot condone this sort of thing.”

Arthur sighed softly. “Know when you are beaten, Commander.”

Gwenhwyfar ducked her head, a smile making its way to her lips of its own accord.

 

***

 

By popular demand, the Travelers stayed with them for three days. In that time, Gwenhwyfar had prayed to the Goddess to keep her sanity, drunk a gallon of wine to aid the process, and decided she did not like her double. She did not care for Arthur’s either, though he seemed fascinated by her – once, she agreed to a friendly match just for the satisfaction of knocking him to the ground, and he’d thanked her for the privilege.

He’d made Emrys rich in the process, too, as the latter collected wagers – a habit he had picked up since losing his magic and that Gwenhwyfar still despaired over – from everyone looking to see this fight. Gwenhwyfar would never admit, not to any living soul, that she had been looking to see how Excalibur would fare against another just like it, too. And according to Emrys, the Traveler had actually bet _against_ himself in the fight.

When he and his companions disappeared in a great burst of light, she deemed it cause for celebration and hoped to never see them again. (She did, a year or so later.)

The singing, dancing and drinking dragged on into the night, until the only ones left awake at the table under the open skies were her and Arthur. He’d been quiet all evening, more so than usual, only nursing his drink and contributing little to the conversations around him, and so, inevitably, made her want to know what was bothering him.

Gwenhwyfar threw a blanket over a snoring Emrys, sprawled in his chair and drooling on the table, then made her way to where Arthur sat.

He glanced up from his goblet when she settled in next to him, offering her a faint smile.

“You’ve been quiet tonight.” She kept her voice low, though even a battle horn would probably not wake the few that had, like Emrys, fallen asleep right there on the table.

Arthur drummed his fingers against his goblet. “I’m celebrating on the inside.”

She hummed, then took a deep breath, closing her eyes in relief. “I thought they would never leave.”

“They weren’t so bad,” Arthur said softly.

Gwenhwyfar turned to him, ready to tell him all the ways in which he was wrong about that, then promptly forgot what she was going to say when she saw his eyes. They were a little glassy, like maybe he’d had a bit too much to drink when she wasn’t paying attention, but it didn’t mask the look he was giving her. There was something about it, something that just made her helplessly flustered and tongue-tied.

She cleared her throat. “Yes, well,” she found her voice, “you didn’t have to contend with your double like I did.”

“He did seem quite taken by you,” Arthur agreed.

She rolled her eyes in response.

“But then,” Arthur went on, “who could blame him?”

He froze her in the spot again, with that look in his eyes and that voice that she swore felt like a caress against her skin.

“It’s just because I look like his wife,” she croaked.

“You do.” Arthur nodded, a bit sluggishly. “But you are also, all on your own,” he added, voice softening, “mighty, and strong, and…a thing of legend. Unlike anything else in this world.”

When he slowly reached his hand to truly touch her, tracing the lines of the marking on her face with the pad of his thumb, all the sounds of the night – the crickets, the crackling fires and Emrys’s snores – faded to noise in her ears.

“I doubt there will _ever_ be another like you, Gwen,” Arthur said. Only he ever used that name for her. “In _any_ world.”

Why was her heart beating so fast? “Umm…”

The tips of his fingers slid down her cheek, along her jaw and under her chin, tipping it up just so. Maybe it was all the wine she had drunk, but she blinked and he seemed all that much closer.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” she blurted out. He stilled. “That – that _they’re_ married, in their world. You and I, we’re – we’re not them, we’ve got nothing in common with them, it doesn’t – ” She swallowed. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

He was confused, she decided. She could understand that. Their doubles had confused her, too. But they were _not_ them, and it did _not_ mean anything. And she just had to keep telling herself that, until she _really_ remembered it.

“I know,” Arthur said so quietly she barely heard him, letting his hand fall away. He wasn’t looking at her anymore, and she wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed.

Her heart still rattled in her chest, so she reached for the nearest cup on the table with some wine still in it, and downed it all in one mighty gulp.

“You know, um,” Arthur was speaking to his own cup, “among many things, I heard them speak of Lancelot. He’s a knight where they’re from. He’s alive.”

She welcomed the change in topic. The topic itself, not so much.

Lancelot had died. Gone missing the last time they had confronted Morgaine, when she had ambushed them on their way to Ismere, and Gwenhwyfar had come home with only his bloodied cloak and sword to put into the funeral pyre. She had not cried the whole way back, not until they had lit the pyre, but the tears had come then, and run down her face right up until the last ember had died. Arthur had only laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, and left her to her grief.

“It only goes to show that we are alike in appearance only,” was all she said on the matter now.

Arthur hummed. “I know you cared for him a great deal,” he said after a moment.

Why wasn’t he letting this go?

“But I never asked, um, about you and him.” He looked to her again. “If there was more to it than that.”

How _this_ was the appropriate time to finally ask, she had no idea. Her mind swam a little from the wine she’d just knocked back and his proximity distracted her, and so she didn’t have the will to try and figure it out either.

“There wasn’t,” she said, shrugging. “We’d known each other a long time. And we were good friends.” She rubbed her lips together. “Why do you want to know?”

His eyebrow quirked a bit. “I wondered if, perhaps…his death has made it so your heart is closed to others.”

She frowned. “Why should you care?”

Her mother once said that she invited trouble. Gwenhwyfar couldn’t argue with that, not when that look returned to Arthur’s eyes, and there was no mistaking the way his head bent towards her anymore.

He paused inches away, gaze flickering to her mouth. Gwenhwyfar held her breath as he waited – for her to say something or pull away, but she did neither, because this time her muddled brain took too long to catch up with her hopeless heart, and then Arthur was leaning closer still, until they nearly breathed the same air.

_Know when you are beaten_ , was her mind’s last, unhelpful contribution before it left her entirely.

When Arthur pressed his lips to hers, they were soft, and warm, and tasted of the fruit he liked to put in his wine.

Every impulse, thought and daydream she’d ever had about him came back to her, and Gwenhwyfar sunk into the kiss, parting her mouth under his as he pulled her closer, the heat of his hand at her back. Arthur made a soft noise at the back of throat when she let him slip his tongue inside her mouth and deepen their kiss, and she was blissfully aware only of him, of his touch, and the magic that flared in him and teased her senses.

She had never been put under a spell, but she imagined that this was what it felt like.

Emrys snored loudly in the night, and the spell broke as Gwenhwyfar gasped quietly, scrambling away. She pretended not to see the way Arthur’s face fell.

She blamed their kiss on the wine, the Travelers, and a lapse in judgement, and never spoke of it again. (Until the time she kissed him because she thought she was going to die. Then the time _he_ kissed her because he thought she was going to die. Then the time they kissed because neither of them had died. And then she stopped keeping count after that.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Don’t worry about me.”

Emrys looked up from where he was tying the bandage around her forearm for the third time, and gave a quiet sigh. “You ask for the impossible.”

Gwenhwyfar offered him a tired smile. “I am fine, truly,” she said. “It’s just a couple of scrapes and bruises.”

“That isn’t.” Emrys pointed to her eye, where she still felt the sting of the half-crescent cut that had been inflicted to her.

“It will heal, too. Eventually.”

“The dagger was enchanted,” Emrys said. “It will take some time.”

Probably about the same time it would take her to forget the circumstances under which she had received it.

She shrugged. “So be it.”

For a while, Emrys only sat quietly on the edge of her bed, in the warmth of her tent, just fiddling with the bandage again. Eventually, he said, “You did the right thing.”

“I know,” she said, even as her voice caught on the words.

She cast her eyes to where Excalibur lay propped against her cupboards. Since it had been forged, she imagined she would use it for many things.

Never to stop Lancelot’s heart, though.

 “There was no way to bring him back,” Emrys spoke, telling her again the same thing she had been telling herself. “Morgaine made sure of that when she destroyed the cauldron of Arianrhod.”

“I know.”

A year after their last meeting, they had seen Morgaine again. And again, it had been an ambush. Only this time, she had shown them new depths to her cruelty.

“He wasn’t Lancelot anymore,” Emrys was still speaking. “The _Tiene Diaga_ – ”

“I know what it does,” Gwenhwyfar said. It tortured the will out of a person until it could be replaced with that of another forever. She was well-aware.

She was also well-aware that she had practically handed Lancelot off to this fate.

After a moment, Emrys covered her hand with his, wrapping his fingers around hers until she looked up at him again. “The true Lancelot,” he said, “would have wanted you to do this. You know that.”

Gwenhwyfar swallowed. “Yeah.”

“What Morgaine had made him into was no life, it was merely an existence. And there was no way to restore him to what he once was.” Gwenhwyfar was nodding along. “The Lancelot we knew was gone the moment she took him. If anything, Gwenhwyfar, you’ve freed him.”

She nodded strongly this time, touching a hand to the cut around her eye. When she had looked into the mirror, it had been angry and red, leaving bloody streaks on her cheek, and stinging from the tears that had run down her face along with the blood.

“At least he left me something to remember him by, huh?” she whispered wryly.

Emrys pursed his lips, sighing as he retraced the path her fingers had taken with his eyes. “I do not think,” he eventually said, “that is what this should remind you of. Lancelot…was brave, and noble, and our friend. That is how he should be remembered – especially by you. That – ” he pointed to her cut – “was not dealt to you by him, only by Morgaine. And all it should remind you of, is that you’ve earned it saving Arthur from her.”

He made her smile. “You’re very wise, Emrys.”

“I am. And you,” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder, “did what was right. It should not burden you that you’ve made this choice. It only shows how strong you are.”

“Alright,” she agreed for his benefit and opened her arms to receive his hug when he leaned in. She tucked her head into his shoulder and shut her eyes tight.

“Lancelot is dead,” Emrys said, and his voice shook for the first time. “But Arthur lives. As do you.” He held her tighter. “That is what matters most.”

Gwenhwyfar exhaled a long, deep breath. She glanced up over Emrys’s shoulder, and there was Arthur.

He hesitated at the entrance to the tent. “I can come back later,” he said quietly.

“No,” Gwenhwyfar assured, straightening out of Emrys’s arms, “it’s alright.”

Emrys looked between them, then said, “I’ll just go, then.” He rose and turned to leave, though she thought she had caught him giving him some kind of look out of the corner of his eye. Something passed between him and Arthur, too, though she couldn’t tell what that was either.

Arthur watched him go, the flap falling down behind him, before he turned to meet her eyes. She held his gaze and swallowed in the silence, then patted the spot on her bed that Emrys had vacated with a soft sigh. She shifted atop the covers, tucking her bare legs to the side and adjusting her sleeping tunic over her knees.

Arthur came to her like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, and sat next to her just as heavily, though carefully.

He took a deep breath, and said, “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for,” she said, shaking her head.

“He came after me.” Arthur rubbed his lips together. “And I…hesitated, because it was…well, Lancelot. Or whatever one might call that unfortunate creature that was left in his stead after Morgaine was through with him.” He cleared his throat. “The point is, he got the better of me, and it is only because of that that you were put in a position where you had to make that kind of choice. And I am sorry.”

She wanted to say again that there was no reason for that, that the choice had been easy because it had been the only one, one that she had made like the strong, clear-headed leader Emrys wanted her to be, but her throat was suddenly too tight to speak.

She’d led that empty vessel that looked like Lancelot away from Arthur, and she’d fought him and won, but she’d also _begged_ – begged, and cried, and yelled for him to remember who he was, to remember _her_ , to fight against Morgaine’s magic, even when she knew he couldn’t; even when he aimed the dagger at her throat and got her in the face, and even when she could _sense_ that he was gone.

In the end, her _choice_ had looked like a weeping woman plunging her sword into a man’s heart with shaking hands, as blood and tears ran down her face.

But one thing did remain true.

“He was already lost,” she said, pressing her lips together and affecting a brave face. “I did the only thing I could do.”

“It was the right thing,” Arthur said, “and if he had been in his right mind, Lancelot would have said the same.”

“I know,” Gwenhwyfar repeated. And she’d only have to a few more times before she truly accepted it.

“Nonetheless, I truly am sorry,” Arthur went on. “I know how much he meant to you.”

She gulped. “The Lancelot I knew has been gone for months. I’ve mourned him many times over. At least now, I know he actually rests in peace.” She’d carried his body back. She’d watched it burn in the funeral pyre this time.

Arthur nodded absently before looking her over. After a moment, he reached for her bandaged arm. Though it pulled at her injury, Gwenhwyfar turned her hand over in his grasp and held on to his wrist. His pulse fluttered under her fingers. “There is really no need,” she said softly.

“Gwen,” was all he said in return, and because he was as stubborn as he was good and true, she only sighed and relaxed her arm.

Arthur held it with care, then began undoing the bandage that Emrys had spent the better part of half an hour putting into place. “I also wanted to say thank you,” he told her as he worked. “You saved my life.”

She smiled for him, even as tears began to sting her eyes. “Well,” she said, “I wasn’t going to let anything happen to _you._ ”

Arthur’s mouth lifted into a one-sided smile, too, to match the soft look in his eyes and the soft touch of his hands as he tended to her scraped-up arm. She would move this Earth for him, she realized, to find him and keep him from harm.

Like she never had for Lancelot.

Her tears burned hotter and she tried to duck her head to hide them, but Arthur noticed anyway. “What is it?”

“Lancelot may have been already gone when I ran him through,” her voice was thick, “but it is my fault he became that way in the first place.”

“Gwen – ”

“It is!” Her head snapped up. “I left him there. I just accepted that he was gone and I left him there, where Morgaine could just take him and torture him until his will was no longer his own, and I – I should have looked for him,” she admitted, to Arthur if not to Emrys. “I should have, and I didn’t, and all that he suffered is because of me.”

A frown was etched on Arthur’s brow as he listened, deepening the longer she talked. He sighed under his breath, then ran his fingers down her arm until he could hold her hand. “We did look for him then, remember?”

“For five minutes,” she scoffed.

“It was all we could spare,” Arthur said, and went on before she could argue, “We assumed he was dead for good reason – he was struck with powerful magic and disappeared with it, what else were you meant to think? And we had to get out of there, to save ourselves. You did the right thing then, too, Gwen, do not doubt it.”

She sniffled. “But – ”

He squeezed her hand. “Lancelot himself,” he insisted, “would have told you to run then, you know he would – as he would have told you to put an end to whatever hell Morgaine had condemned him to now. You’ve nothing to be ashamed of, my lo – ” He broke off mid-word, then cleared his throat. “Gwen. The fault for all this lies with Morgaine, not you. Never you.” He held her gaze. “Tell me you believe that.”

Gwenhwyfar’s heart swelled even as some part of it continued to break, and reached out to lay a gentle hand on his cheek in gratitude. “Maybe after I’ve slept on it,” she allowed.

“That’s good enough,” Arthur allowed in turn, nodding ever so slightly. Intentionally or not, the corner of his mouth brushed her palm with the movement, and her heart, naturally, now skipped a beat.

She dropped her hand back atop the covers as Arthur finally muttered a spell to heal the scrapes and cuts on her forearm. They disappeared under the warm, soothing touch of his magic, and he concluded with satisfaction, “There.”

His face fell as he lifted his eyes to the cut on her face, though. “But I cannot heal that.” He still traced the curve of it with the tip of his finger, even if he never actually touched her skin.

“It’s nothing,” Gwenhwyfar whispered.

“It will leave a scar.”

She shrugged, blowing out a deep breath. “It’s just a scar,” she decided.

Though one wouldn’t know that by the way Arthur was frowning at it, saying nothing.

“You look upset,” she remarked.

“I am,” Arthur said at length, and she blinked at just how much he suddenly sounded that way, too. “I was worried. You went off to fight Lancelot, and then we couldn’t find you – there was blood on the ground, Emrys said it was yours, I – ” He didn’t go on, not out loud, but to her mind, he added, _“I thought I’d lost you.”_

“Oh,” she said softly. “I – ”

_I don’t know what I would do if I did._

Gwenhwyfar licked her lips. _If anything should happen to me,_ she said what she always did, _you will still have the throne of Camelot. I promise._

Arthur shook his head slowly. _That’s not what I meant._

“Umm…”

“And it isn’t true,” Arthur said. “You are as important to this endeavor as I am. I know I will never sit on the throne of Camelot without you.”

There was something strange in his eyes, like determination, as he scooted closer to her on the bed, pressing one hand to her back to pull her closer still and taking one of hers with the other, only to raise it up and hold it against his heart. It beat unevenly under her palm.

She didn’t understand what he was doing, not even when he began chanting again, because he was so, so close, and his eyes were so beautiful and blue and golden, and a haze descended on her mind. But the strings of the old words began taking shape in some part of her consciousness and she snapped out of it when she recognized them.

“Arthur, no!” She tried to pull her hand away, but he held it in place.

“Let me do this,” he said, and sounded almost like he was pleading with her.

He was out of his mind. “Do you even understand what you’re doing?”

“Perfectly. Emrys told me how.”

Then Emrys was as mad as he was. “Arthur,” she tried to make him see sense, “this rite is from the old days, and it cannot be undone, it would bind you to me forever – ”

“I know,” he said simply.

“I understand, alright,” she spoke with more urgency, “that you worry about me, I worry about you, too, believe me, I do, but this is madness – you will regret this!” (In truth, he never actually did.) “You will, you will see it was a mistake one day, and you will regret doing it, and – do you even know that it was the warrior who would do this for their liege? If anyone should be doing this, it’s me, for you, not the other way around – ”

“No, Gwen…” He still held her hand. “Listen – ”

“You’ve been with us for a long time, but there are clearly some things you still don’t understand, this – this is not just some way for you to find me if I am ever lost in an ambush again, Arthur, it is a deep, and lasting bond, and it will not be broken even in death.” She couldn’t believe Emrys had agreed to this. “And if something were to happen to me, do you know how that would feel?”

“The purpose of this,” Arthur said, almost calmly, and she had evidently not put a single dent in his madness, “is to make sure _that_ does not happen.”

_Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn._ “There’s a reason this isn’t the done thing anymore! And it’s because despite their best efforts, the liege lords would die and the pain would be so great that the warriors would eventually take their own lives just to put an end to it! It is not worth the – ”

“It is to me.”

Gwenhwyfar blew out a breath, and looked through the top of her tent to the heavens, wondering why the Goddess had abandoned her. “Arthur, why are you doing this?” she sighed.

“Like I said,” his voice never changed, though his fingers did tighten their hold on hers, “I thought I’d lost you. And it wasn’t the first time, but each time it happens, it frightens me more than the time before. Which is why I need to have a way to know if you are ever in trouble, if you are hurt, and if so, a way to find you. We all do. Because, despite what you think, you _are_ important. Perhaps even more so than I am.”

“There are _dozens_ who can lead an army,” she leaned in with all of the desperation of a person trying to reason with a madman, “only _you_ can sit on the throne of Camelot.”

For the first time, Arthur didn’t answer right away, and she nearly mistook the little flicker in his eyes for a return of his right mind. But he shook his head, and said, “No. No one can replace you, Gwen. And _you_ are precious, not just the kingdom,” he nearly whispered. “At least, you are to me.”

Her throat felt too tight again, but it had nothing to do with guilt, or regret, or Lancelot, only Arthur and the way his heart still beat in uneven patterns under her hand. The air in the room changed, as did the expression on Arthur’s face, until he looked at her the same way he had half-a-year ago, in the dead of a night much like this one, when he had told her she was unlike anything else in this world.

“Gwen,” he said, “just let me do this.”

She swallowed, let out a shaky breath, and nodded once. (When people who did not know them retold this story, they said that she had understood then what he was really saying, and that to agree was her way of saying it back.)

Arthur’s eyes were on fire once more and she could not look away from him as he resumed chanting, making magic flow from him, through her, and back again. For a moment, their bond was like a living thing, dancing between them, a piece of her coming to rest inside him, and through it all, he still spoke in the old tongue, clutching her hand to his chest. When it settled, he leaned over, and pressed his lips to her forehead to seal the rite. In its lone corner, Excalibur glowed faintly.

Arthur’s heart beat steadily now. He moved only slightly, dropping his head until his forehead touched hers. “There,” he said, like this was the same thing as taking care of a bump on her head or a scrape on her arm.

Gwenhwyfar looked down, parting the collar of his tunic with her fingers, and right there, right above his heart, was the mark of a serpent to match hers. Arthur reached blindly with his free hand to touch the one she bore, cupping the side of her head and tracing the lines of the mark with his thumb.

“How does it feel?” she whispered.

“Not so different yet.” His eyes were closed, but his mouth lifted into a slow smile. _You’re still with me._

_I can’t believe I let you do this._

“Save your regrets for the morning,” he said, and his breath brushed her cheek and mouth. “And this was _my_ choice,” he added, unhurried. “One that I did not make lightly, you know. Despite what you may think.”

“Oh, Arthur.” She took a moment to watch him when he wasn’t looking, from his blond mop of hair, down the handsome lines of his face and to his mouth, that she remembered the soft, full feeling of so well, and so very temptingly close to hers now – Goddess help her, he was close enough that she could count the eyelashes that cast shadows on his cheeks.

On an impulse, she raised a hand to touch his face, too, drawing a path from his temple to his jaw. It clenched under her fingers. _Gwen…_

Her thumb hovered over his lower lip, and when she looked up, his eyes were open and he was pulling away only far enough to truly look at her. His eyes never leaving hers, he placed a kiss on the pad of her thumb, then turned his head to suck one into the palm of her hand. Her breath caught.

His mouth twitched before he pressed it to her forehead again, then her brow, her temple, and then her cheek, brushing his nose against hers. By the time he reached her mouth, it was already parted for him and her fingers were twisting in his hair.

_Save your regrets for the morning,_ she thought faintly, hopeless as she’d always been when it came to him, and closed her fist around as handful of his tunic as she fell back, pulling him with her. In the end, that she would fall into bed with him hardly even surprised her at all.

But she blamed it on their emotions, and their new bond, and a dozen other things – even as they lay together after, and Arthur traced the lines of the triskelion marked upon her back with his fingers –, and swore it would never happen again. (It happened again.)


	13. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AKA The One Where They're Up All Night

“Am I disturbing you?” Gwen asked gently.

From where she sat in a chair, Gwenhwyfar gave a vague shrug. All the injuries that she had previously had were entirely gone from her skin. “It’s alright.”

Gwen glanced around the quarters. “I didn’t think I would find you alone.”

“Arthur’s gone – somewhere.” Gwenhwyfar waved a hand through the air. “Em – Merlin wanted him for something.” She let out a soft sigh. “Did you need anything?”

“I was wondering if you might accompany me somewhere?”

“Where to?” Gwenhwyfar rose to her feet almost immediately, as if she’d just been waiting for a reason to get out of these chambers. Or for a distraction.

“My home in the lower town,” Gwen said quietly. “I…” She didn’t quite know how to put it into words, that she longed for the comfort of her father’s house, but Gwenhwyfar didn’t ask for an explanation either way, merely continuing with the task of strapping her sword in place again.

They were soon joined by Guenevere, knocking on the door with some hesitance, and sighing in relief the moment she saw them. “Oh, there you are. My husband and Dragoon have gone to retrieve the Horn from Morgana,” she said. “I was, um, looking for some company.”

Gwen smiled faintly. “Would you care for a walk to the lower town as well?”

She could practically see Guenevere weighing the options in her head: to stay in this castle alone, with Uther on the loose, or to go wherever the only thing that could stop him went, too? The latter won out. “I’d be happy to.”

The three of them donned cloaks to hide their identities and snuck out of the castle under Gwen’s guidance, avoiding guards and keeping to side corridors and dark corners. They tiptoed down an open passageway on their way out of the courtyard, and Gwenhwyfar’s head popped over the parapet every now and again to make sure the coast was still clear.

It popped over again, then froze in the spot. Gwen and Guenevere lifted their heads to peek over the edge, too.

“Which ones are they?” Guenevere asked, looking to the two figures sneaking away under the cover of darkness as well, towards the Darkling Woods.

Arthur and Merlin, there was no doubt about it. “Mine,” Gwen said, frowning.

“Where are they going?” Gwenhwyfar asked.

Gwen sighed. “I’ve no idea.”

They avoided a patrol, a pair of drunkards stumbling out of the tavern and, inexplicably, a wandering chicken, as Guenevere grumbled about getting dirt on her shoes and Gwenhwyfar muttered something about legends of threes, and Mothers, Maidens and Crones.

Easing the door of her house open, Gwen winced as it creaked on its hinges, then held it aloft so the others could slip inside. She moved easily in the dark, gathering and lighting candles, then let out a soft breath as, little by little, light filled her home again.

She had been so sad to leave it, even more so when it happened earlier than she had expected, and now, there was a chance she might never have to. Even when it had been her own suggestion, that thought saddened her even more.

Guenevere cast a look around. “You have a lovely home,” she said. Gwen wasn’t sure she believed her.

“It’s got walls,” Gwenhwyfar said and shrugged, which, Gwen supposed, was good enough for a woman who had, evidently, spent her life living in tents.

She proceeded to toe off her boots and settle on the small bed, sitting cross-legged atop the covers, as Guenevere made her way to the bench by the table, saying, “It reminds me of the home Arthur grew up in.”

Gwen smiled faintly, even as her heart sank a little, thinking of Arthur in _her_ home, standing in the very spot where she stood now, bending his head to kiss her. It was such a long time ago.

“You’ve been to it?” she asked as she puttered about, fetching goblets and water for them to drink. This morning’s fresh bucket still sat untouched on the stove.

“He took me to his village once,” Guenevere said, nodding in thanks when Gwen handed her a full goblet. “I rather enjoyed the journey, actually.” Her voice softened as she continued, “I think it was the first time that I truly saw what would make him a good king.”

Gwen nodded along absently, handing a silent Gwenhwyfar her own refreshment and expecting to hear a story about the king and his people, smiling as a memory of her own returned, of Arthur handing a gathered crowd back their coin against Uther’s orders, in the middle of the lower town.

Except the rest of the story went thus, “The village came under attack by bandits while we were there. Arthur spared none, cut most of the bandits down himself, actually. It showed he could govern with a strong hand, I was impressed.”

That – was not as heartwarming as Gwen had anticipated, but that Guenevere valued a strong hand and a dose of bloodlust did somehow not surprise her either.

“And what about you? When did you know that you would be a good queen?” she asked quietly, choosing to sit at the opposite end of the bench. Guenevere turned to her as if in surprise.

“Do you know what, forget I asked.” Gwen shook her head the next moment. “You probably never had any doubt.”

“No, I don’t think I did,” Guenevere said, and Gwen was just about to agree and tell her to leave it be when she followed it with, “But there is a difference, between not having doubts and knowing for certain. And I suppose,” she rubbed her lips together in thought, “that for me, it was not just one moment where I simply _knew_. I did the best I could. The best I knew how. To counsel Arthur, to help him build the kingdom he wanted Camelot to be. And, after all these years, it is better off than how we found it. So, I like to think…that _that_ proves I’ve been a good queen.” She shrugged delicately, and concluded, “ _Time_ showed.”

Gwen almost laughed at how simple that answer was. It told her everything and exactly nothing.

Studying her with a careful eye, Guenevere asked, “Do you believe that time has shown differently for you so far?”

“Time has not yet shown anything for me,” Gwen said. 

“Really?” Guenevere raised her eyebrows. “Because I’ve seen how your king is with you. He looks to you, he values your opinion. A strong and clever opinion, I might add. That cannot have just happened.”

“No, it did not.” Gwen chuckled softly. “I never, um, lacked conviction in my beliefs – of the place Camelot should be, of what a good king should be. Or even that someone like me could be a worthy queen. I just never thought it could be _me_.”

She picked at the little bit of wax that had stuck to her table, from the night that Arthur had asked her to marry him. That, too, seemed like such a long time ago now.

“But then Arthur,” she sighed, “listened to me, and cared for me, and often said that I was right. Said that he valued my opinion above all others. He thought I was…wise.” With her heart in her throat, she added, “And so I…started thinking that, maybe, I did belong on the throne. With him.”

But then, maybe not.

“I hope,” Guenevere said slowly, “that it was not our presence here that has made you doubt it now.”

Gwen did not wish to lie so she said nothing at all.

“Oh.” Guenevere’s face fell, as Gwenhwyfar only muttered a simple, “sorry,” from her spot on the bed.

“Do not feel bad. I am glad of it, actually,” Gwen reassured. “It is better to recognize a mistake before it is made than,” she drew a deep breath, “after it cannot no longer be undone.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Where are we going?”

Merlin held back another sigh, and turned to Arthur with his most confident look. “You’ll see,” he said. “But it will be worth it. I promise.”

Arthur did sigh. “I can’t believe you talked me into this.”

Merlin admitted that he, too, was a little surprised that he had managed to talk Arthur into following him away from the city and into the dead of night, with an argument that mostly just amounted to, _“Trust me.”_

“I should be back at the palace,” Arthur was saying, “there is so much going on, I should be – ” He deflated from one word to the next, and stared forlornly at the forest ground. “Who am I trying to fool?” he wondered. “I’ve been entirely useless in this situation so far. What do I hope to do about it now?”

And therein lay precisely the reason why Merlin had taken him out of the palace and onto this journey, after he had found him in his chambers, staring at an inkwell and engaging in an endless cycle of self-doubt – because of something either Uther or Gwen had said, Merlin still wasn’t too clear on that part.

He, of course, could have told the king that they had taken this path north to go to a very particular spot of the Darkling Woods, to there find a very particular object that he had once placed in a very particular stone. But where would be the fun in that?

“You’re not useless, Arthur,” Merlin said.

“Well, what good have I been?” Arthur argued. “I’ve only made things worse.”

“We all make mistakes.”

“Only mine never seem to end.”

“Arthur…”

Arthur shook his head to tell him to drop it, and Merlin let him have this one. He’d get him to perk up again soon enough.

As they made their way through the forest, with only a couple of torches to light their way, Arthur still turned every once in a while, casting glances at the disappearing outline of the palace in the distance.

“Gwen will be fine, sire,” Merlin read his thoughts. “Gwenhwyfar is with her, she will keep her safe.”

“Mm.” Arthur nodded and turned his eyes back to the road ahead, a seemingly permanent frown etched on his brow.

“All will be well,” Merlin reassured.

“How can you be so sure?”

“I have faith,” Merlin said. “And I know that you and Gwen did not come all this way just to be taken apart the day before your wedding.”

Something flickered across Arthur’s expression. Even with his mind working a mile a minute from the wakefulness potion Emrys had cooked up and given him, Merlin couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was. But it did make him force more conviction into his voice as he barreled on, “We will prevail. You and Gwen will be happy. Don’t let what is happening now make you doubt it. You have so much to look forward to, Arthur. A Camelot that will prosper under your rule. A queen that is loved by all.” He smiled. “Perhaps even a little princess?”

They’d reached a small clearing and Arthur stopped dead in the middle of it. His frown deepened, like the idea somehow upset him to no end.

 Merlin frowned, too. “I’m sure you’ll have a son eventually…”

“It’s not that,” Arthur said. “I don’t care about that.”

“Then what is it?”

Was it a trick of the light, or did Arthur’s eyes seem a little too shiny? “It’s…been on my mind since I learned this child existed,” he admitted – softly, quietly. “I can’t stop wondering, what if…” He swallowed. “What if what happened to my mother happens to Guinevere?”

_Oh._

“Your mother died because of sorcery, Arthur,” Merlin made himself say it, even when it left a bitter taste in his mouth.  

“Is that not a threat I would face, too?” Arthur gestured around, and the torch flickered wildly with the movement. “Morgana raises the dead to keep her just from becoming queen, what do you imagine she would do if Guinevere carried an heir to the throne of Camelot?”

He was right, and there was nothing Merlin could say to the contrary. He could only mutely nod in agreement, as Arthur looked down to the ground.

“If I lost Guinevere that way,” he said, “I…I wouldn’t love that child, Merlin.” He shook his head slowly, like it weighed a hundred stones. “Like my father didn’t love me.”

Despite everything, Merlin said, “I don’t think that’s true.”

“Then why is he doing this?” Arthur’s eyes rose, as did his voice. “Why won’t he _stop_ , even when I beg him to? Have I – ” His breath caught. “Have I really been such a terrible king, that he would come to hate me enough to knowingly break my heart like this?”

Merlin’s heart broke, too, to watch him run in all these endless circles, wondering why his family was the way that it was.

“You’ve done nothing wrong, Arthur,” Merlin said. “It is Uther who is wrong.”

There was no mistaking the tears that shone in Arthur’s eyes now.

“He is wrong about you,” Merlin went on, “as he is wrong about Gwen. And I think, deep down, you know that as well as I do. Because you are a better man than he was, Arthur, you always were. You just have to believe it.”

If he’d hoped to _make_ him believe it, just like that, he was disappointed, because while the grieved, troubled look on Arthur’s face eased, it was replaced by a sadness Merlin could not explain.

Eventually, Arthur said, “Guinevere doesn’t want to marry me anymore.”

Merlin found that hard to believe. “Is that really what she said?”

“Not in those words.”

“What _were_ the words?”

“She’s asked me to consider postponing our wedding.”

“How does that – ”

“At _least_.”

_Ah_. “I don’t think that means,” Merlin said, “she doesn’t want to be your queen anymore.”

“That’s what she said, too.”

“Then why are you – ” Merlin gave up. “If she’s brought it up at all,” he said instead, “I’m sure it is only out of concern for all our safeties.”

Arthur slowly nodded in agreement, then asked, “Should I do it?”

“Do what?”

“Postpone the ceremony. Or…” He let it trail off, but Merlin caught his meaning regardless.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Well, what should I do then?” Arthur wondered. “Because _I_ don’t know. I don’t know if we’ll succeed in retrieving that horn,” he barreled on before Merlin could jump in. “I like to believe that it will work, but there’s no guarantee. Guinevere is right about that. Like she was right about my father.” His shoulders slumped. “Maybe she’s right about our wedding, too.”

Merlin sighed. Clearly, he had been talking at air just now. And so far, evidently, his plan to rid Gwen of her own doubts was backfiring in spectacular fashion, too.

“If she does not believe she should be queen,” Arthur asked quietly, “then how can I?”

“Gwen is only right _most_ of the time,” Merlin cut in before this could get any further out of hand. “And however much she questions her ability to be queen, you and I both know she is more than capable. Whatever doubts she has, _you_ must have faith in her. As she has had faith in you. And don’t,” he warned when Arthur opened his mouth, “say that’s one of those things she might be wrong about.”

Arthur’s mouth lifted in the barest of smiles. “You’ve always had great faith in me, too, Merlin. I’m not sure I ever thanked you for that.”

Acknowledgement and thanks? Now Merlin truly began to worry. “You earned it, sire.”

“Yeah,” Arthur humored him. He could not have more obviously been lying.

“I’ll prove it,” Merlin said, then nodded towards the road ahead. “Come on.”

Arthur followed without a word.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“See now,” Gwenhwyfar was saying, her tongue finally loosened, “that is the trouble with meeting your doubles. It makes you think too much. It makes you see things you did not want to see.”

“What I don’t understand,” and Guenevere was promptly ignoring her, “is what our presence has changed? You are as you have always been. If marrying Arthur was the right thing to do before, then how is it a mistake now?”

Gwen did not think that any amount of time spent with them would get her used to this. Two people who were most alike, speaking of the same things yet never having the same answer on anything. At times, it was like having two echoes of her own voice, two halves of her own self, arguing in her head.

Not that she _was_ like them.

“Whether it is a mistake,” Gwen said, “is for Arthur to say.”

“Because _his_ judgement is so sound?” Gwenhwyfar scoffed. Truth be told, Gwen was losing track of which side of this argument she was on, especially when she went on, “Her Majesty’s got a point, you know. A moment’s weakness does not undo all that has come before. And if doubt is weakness, then you should look to the convictions you held before for answers, rather than to what is happening now.”

Guenevere’s jaw was practically on the floor. “Are you actually _agreeing_ with me?”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

Gwen admitted that she, too, was surprised. And now, there were doubts being cast _on_ her doubts, which was just…a confusing position to be in.

“You’re right,” she had to admit nonetheless. Was this not the sort of thing she preached to Arthur himself, after all? “Except,” she added, “I see now that I have much to learn still. Perhaps more than I am capable of. And if that is so…then is it not better for Arthur to have the support of one who does know all these things and more?”

“And you are willing to sacrifice your happiness for it?” Guenevere asked.

“It is not my happiness that matters most,” Gwen said. “It is that of the people of Camelot. Arthur cares for them a great deal. It is what makes him a good king. And the one who should sit on the throne beside him is one who knows how best to help him see this land prosper.” She sighed. “I’m just not sure that’s me.”

It was, perhaps undoubtedly, someone like Guenevere, who only watched her in silence for a while. “That is all fine and well,” she eventually spoke, “but in this great intent to think of what is best for Camelot, you forget one thing.”

“Which is?”

“That an unhappy king,” Guenevere said pointedly, “does not make for a happier kingdom.”

“That is true,” Gwen sighed again.

“So, then,” Guenevere concluded, “is it not wise to stop thinking of what might be and believe in what _is_? Besides, it is you who have taught me that the best way to think is simple and straightforward,” she said. “You and Arthur love each other. You believe in the same things. That is what matters. The rest of it will fall into place. With _time_.” With unwavering certainty, she added, “Some things are meant to be.”

Gwen, despite it all, conceded with a smile. “Perhaps.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“I really wish you would share my enthusiasm about this.”

“I do.”

Emrys pursed his lips. “You don’t look it.”

Arthur sighed softly. “You’re right,” he said, using that princely tone he liked to make apologies in. “I’m sorry, old friend.”

“Oh, that’s alright.” Emrys smiled.

They walked east through the dark woods of this world, at the dead of night, sustained only by the sheer power of will to reach the Crystal Cave and the potion he had made to keep them awake. He had never been more reminded of the delicate art and power of potion-making than when he had also given a vial of it to his double.

(“This is amazing!” Merlin had crowed. “I haven’t slept in two days, but I am fully awake!”

“You’re also shouting,” Emrys had pointed out.

“I know!”)

The fairy light Arthur had conjured to illuminate their way flickered.

“Are you sure we’re on the right path?” he asked.

“Of _course_ I’m sure.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. With a sigh, Emrys rummaged through his satchel for the map he had been given and checked again.

As it turned out, they were not, in fact, on the right path.

“Try not to get us lost in an unfamiliar world where we are both likely to get executed for what we are,” Arthur deadpanned as they changed course.

Emrys rolled his eyes. This coming from the man who had just hours ago nearly made griffin lunch meat out of their skins. He was so overbearing.

“Come now, my lord,” Emrys said, “with the joined power we will have amassed by the end of this quest, who in this world could hope to stand a chance against us?”

The corner of Arthur’s mouth twitched. “Perhaps we should take over it and rule it as we see fit.”

Emrys had long ago come to attribute Arthur’s ability to make any sort of funny joke to Gwenhwyfar’s influence. “Mm, and it would be an easy conquest,” he agreed. “We’d have a nice castle, hordes of servants to do our bidding…you’d finally be _a_ king of Camelot.” Barely managing to suppress a grin, he added, “And Gwenhwyfar could be our queen.”

Arthur somehow managed to freeze and keep walking at the same time. “Emrys…”

He couldn’t help the grin this time. “Why can’t you just admit you want to be with her?” he asked. “A blind man could see it. Deaf men _have_ heard it.”

Arthur’s head snapped towards him. “What?”

_Honestly_. “Do neither of you realize that we live in _tents?_ We can hear things, Arthur. We can hear everything. And why you never think to cast a soundproofing spell beforehand is beyond – ”

“Alright, that’s enough.”

Emrys shut his mouth, though his smirk remained. Arthur was resolutely staring at the leaves that crunched under his boots.

“You know that we all hope for it, don’t you?” Emrys said softly. “That when you are king, she will be your queen?”

Arthur’s jaw clenched. “That’s…not going to happen, Emrys.”

“Why not?”

Arthur cleared his throat. “I’ve, uh…I’ve been corresponding with Mithian of Nemeth these past couple of months. She is of the royal family. If – when I am king, she’s agreed to be my queen to forge an alliance between our kingdoms.”

Emrys grimaced. “What’d you do that for?”

It earned him a fleeting, thoroughly unimpressed look. “Nemeth’s strategic position and influence in the land cannot be denied. When we finally take the throne of Camelot, we will need a strong ally to support our claim. To _keep_ the peace we hope to bring.”

Sometimes, Emrys forgot that Arthur was, in fact, a royal and that they, as a sort, made no sense. “And that…will be enough to make you happy?”

“My happiness has nothing to do with it,” Arthur said. “I will have a duty to deliver on what I have promised. I must do what is best for Camelot.”

Emrys couldn’t help but feel hurt. “Gwenhwyfar isn’t good enough for Camelot?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“But what, this _Millie_ is just better?”

“Mithian.”

“Whatever.”

Arthur sighed at the moon.

Emrys considered him for a moment. He talked big, but if Emrys were a betting man – and he was – he would not place one coin on this union. Rather, he would stake all of his riches on another one entirely.

So, he shook his head, clucked his tongue, and said, “Nah. This will not come to anything.”

“Do you question my word?”

“If anything, sire, I question your sanity. But I do still have faith, which is why I know,” Emrys declared with certainty, “that, in the end, you will not do this. This Millicent – ”

“ _Mithian_.”

“Mildred, is not destined to be queen the Camelot and so, whatever you may say to me now, I know that this will not come to be.” He raised his chin with great dignity. “I know what the ancients used to say.”

After a moment, Arthur said, “You put too much stock in your stories.”

Emrys gasped. “How dare you say that to a Druid?”

Arthur almost cracked a smile. “We cannot know our destiny, Emrys. We only understand the meaning of our life at the end.”

There went Gwenhwyfar’s influence again. “Perhaps not,” Emrys allowed, “but nothing stops us from guessing it. The world is full of signs. But alright, forget _my_ stories.” He waved a hand. “What about your double’s?”

“The one who can’t save his own betrothed?” Arthur frowned.

“No, obviously, the other one.”

“Ah.” Arthur nodded. “What about his stories?”

“Come on, Arthur,” Emrys said, not unkindly, “you know what I mean. All his stories are the same. You know how his Morgaine thinks that some lives are always foretold only one way? I believe that. Because it doesn’t matter what world he’s talking about, what great or terrible thing sets it apart from the next, they all start the same way.” He smiled faintly. “There is Camelot. There is you, meant for the crown. And then, there is Gwenhwyfar. Or Guinevere. Or Gwen, or – what was it that assassin called herself?”

“Jenny,” Arthur answered, barely above a whisper.

“Yes, Jenny. It’s always the same story. And you know,” he said, looking to the trees and the stars, “it comforts me. To know that, wherever you exist, it is your destiny to be king. If all the fates in all the worlds are in agreement, then that must mean that we made the right choice. When we put our faith in you.” He nodded at the heavens. “We took the right path to peace. We chose right.” _Gwenhwyfar chose right._

“But I also cannot ignore that whenever your name is mentioned, so is hers,” he turned back to Arthur, who only walked beside him in silence. “Sometimes she is queen, and sometimes she is yet to be one – and then other times, you’re just not sure how it’s going to come to that, but she’s always there. And you are always in love.”

Arthur didn’t even bother denying it. And Emrys, whatever the prince said of his stories, the ancients, or the fates, knew exactly how to drive this point home.

“It puzzles me which came first, though,” he mused. “Were you born to be king and to love her and so she became queen? Was _she_ born to be queen and to love you and so you became king? Were you each born for your own crown and so you inevitably came together? Or were you just born for each other,” he wondered, “and everything else is only a mere consequence of that?”

Arthur stopped. Under the fairy, star and moon light, his eyes shone with tears.

“What would you like me to say, Emrys?” his voice was thick. “That I want to believe that, too? Because I do.” He chuckled faintly. “I think about her all the time. I care about her more than anyone. If anything ever happens to her, I – ”

He never finished, though Emrys understood perfectly.

“But we can’t always get what we want, and whatever Gwen and I had is over,” Arthur said with finality. “So leave it be.”

He walked on, but Emrys stopped him again with, “And what of that mark you carry above your heart?”

“Well, that’s not going anywhere, is it?” Arthur whispered.

“No, but Gwenhwyfar will,” Emrys said. “Do you expect her to stay in Camelot just to watch you with another?”

Arthur was giving him a funny sort of look over his shoulder.

“You’ve driven me mad for being away from her for two days, do you really think you will be able to bear – ”

“She doesn’t want to be with _me._ ”

Emrys screeched to a halt. _Say that again?_

_She doesn’t want me,_ Arthur said. He turned back to face him fully, arms out. “The arrangement with Mithian? It was Gwen’s idea.”

That – that certainly put a new perspective on things. And all Emrys could think of saying was just, “Oh.”

Arthur’s responding smile was wry and entirely mirthless. “I think that makes her feelings on the matter pretty clear, don’t you?”

“But – but – what about – ”

“That’s – ” Arthur looked away, struggling for a way to put it, until he just looked…sad. “Over,” he repeated. “It was never meant to last anyway, it was all talk. She reminded me of that. And you what, she’s right.” He shrugged. “I would like nothing more than to follow my heart, Emrys, believe me, but I cannot make her into something she does not want to be. So, I will do the convenient thing instead and bring Camelot the alliance it deserves.”

He expelled a sharp breath and straightened, like he was shaking the whole thing off. “Now, if we could just carry on, get to this cave, get your magic back and get out of this cursed world…” He did not wait for an agreement before promptly turning on his heel and marching on.  

Emrys stood rooted in the spot for a while longer before taking off after him. “Well, I mean – you know, Gwenhwyfar sometimes has trouble expressing her feelings – ”

“Shut up, Emrys.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

“You found him a _wife?”_

It was Guenevere’s questioning that had led them to this point and it was again she who raised the question, staring at Gwenhwyfar like she had just sprouted a second head.

Gwen, admittedly, shared some of the sentiment. Watching Arthur put politics over love, or get pushed into it, and letting it be was one thing, she could understand that – quite well, even. But to _willingly_ send him off to another…

“I _suggested_ ,” Gwenhwyfar was unimpressed with the both of them, “that an alliance with Nemeth would benefit Camelot greatly. He agreed with me.”

“Has he ever _not_ agreed with you?” Guenevere wondered, just as Gwen said, struck by a new swell of sympathy, “That must have been hard.”

Bluster suddenly gone, Gwenhwyfar only sat silently on the bed, picking at a thread that had come loose from the covers. “As you say, Guinevere,” she spoke, “the future of Camelot comes before all else, especially before my feelings. I do not fight in vain. I fight for peace and the right of everyone to just be who they are. Arthur believes in all those things, more than…anyone I have ever known.”

“A true and noble cause,” Gwen whispered.

“Indeed, the mark of a good king,” Gwenhwyfar agreed, a faraway look in her eye. “I have sworn with my life to get him on the throne of Camelot. It is my duty now, just as it is to keep him there once it is done. This alliance will serve that purpose.” With resolve as unyielding as the steel of her blade, she said, “So that, for all the years to come, he may be safe to preach the values we have forgotten and restore them to Albion.”

Yes, quite the noble cause. Yet, though she had declared it with determination, her voice had been rough and her eyes shone in the light of the candles Gwen had lit, a little too brightly to be truly dry. Like her heart was breaking.

“You do think with your head,” Guenevere broke the silence, sounding like she had just come upon a wonder. “But you’re using it all wrong.”

Gwenhwyfar rolled her eyes. “Thanks.”

“You should – ”

“What right have you,” Gwenhwyfar cut in, “to incessantly badger me with this, when you married only for politics, too?”

This could not be argued with so, looking like she had swallowed something sour, Guenevere turned sideways, and Gwen could see why she would be her best option here, what with being the one among them who would marry for love, but, put on the spot like this and all circumstances considered, she couldn’t think of anything to say.

Gwenhwyfar barreled on, “Why does this matter to you so much anyway? You say that the fates of other worlds are not your concern. So why will you not just leave me be?”

It was Guenevere’s turn to be put on the spot, and for all that she appeared to have all the answers to all their troubles, she was silent as a tomb now.

“All that talk about how we’re all meant to be queens,” Gwenhwyfar said, “all the ways in which you try to convince us….you only care about the fates of the worlds when it makes _you_ seem special. It’s all about your own vanity, isn’t it?”

The words were harsh, and Gwen nearly flinched at it, as Guenevere’s mouth set into a line, her chest rising and falling with a deep, unsteady breath. In the end, she cast her eyes to her lap and said, “Perhaps there is some of that. I cannot deny it. But, in a way, it also…comforts me.” She shrugged. “If, in every world there is, I am only ever meant to be one thing, and that is a king’s _consort_ , then I was not…a coward. For not challenging the way of things, or my brother, for not asking that I be – ” She sniffled, and quickly wiped under her eyes. “I was just letting myself become what I was supposed to be.”

What she was not supposed to be was never spoken of but Gwen believed she understood nonetheless – and even Gwenhwyfar, still coiled like a trap ready to spring, lost some of her righteous indignation, only chewing on her tongue in silence.

“I may be selfish, and vain, and whatever you like to call me,” Guenevere raised her chin again, “but it does not mean that I am wrong. As I said…no Camelot will be better off for having an unhappy king.”

“Who’s to say that she will make him unhappy?” Gwenhwyfar muttered.

“I think that the man who has bound himself eternally to you,” Guenevere said, with a unexpected touch of kindness, “says so himself.”

This, too, could hardly be argued with. Gwenhwyfar only let out a shaky breath, and hung her head.

It was hardly the right time to bring it up, but her curiosity got the better of her, and so Gwen asked, “This bond you always speak of…I’m not entirely sure I understand. What does it really mean?”

“Like I said, it is a rite from the old days,” Gwenhwyfar answered, regardless of poor timing. “If anything, it should have been done the other way around, but Arthur…insisted. In a way, it is as if – ” she turned her eyes to the ceiling, blinking her tears away – “part of me now lives inside of him. It is as one with _his_ soul.”

He’d taken his very _soul_ into this deal? Gwen had to admit that she was…impressed.

“So, he has a sense of me,” Gwenhwyfar went on. “Right now, wherever it is he’s gone, he can tell where I might be as well as he can tell so for himself. And if I choose to, I can share some of what I feel with him. That way, if trouble finds me, as it tends to, he will know to come for me. And where. It was, I believe, his first reason for doing this. As it used to be in the old days.”

When the warriors would bind themselves to the lieges for surety. Gwen remembered. “Is that all you can share with him?”

“No. But it is all I ever will. Besides, I am a Druid and he has magic. That takes care of most things.”

“How do you mean?”

It was Guenevere who answered, looking at her like she was daft. “Druids can speak with their minds. To others like them and to all those with magic.”

Oh. Oh, that explained so much.

“Yes,” Gwenhwyfar said. “As to what this bond means, in the end…” She was tracing the lines of her marking, like she was barely aware of doing so. “It is unbreakable. Death does little against it. And so, even in the spirit world, he will know to find me. Even in the next life, and the one after that, he will have the same sense of me, and…will hurt the same if I am gone.” She cast her eyes down, a hitch in her breath. “We are forever bound this way.”

“Do you owe him anything in return?”

“Not by any laws of magic, no.”

Well, then, to take her mark upon himself despite all of this was…a great sacrifice. Speaking of her mark… “You said that the rite was done by one taking the mark of the other. But I have not seen yours on him.”

“Mm, no,” Guenevere said. “Ask her where he put it.”

“Where did he put it?” Gwen asked dutifully.

Looking decidedly away, Gwenhwyfar mumbled, “Over his heart.”

Gwen had no words. Guenevere was casting her a sideways glance, too, as if to say, “ _would you look at this?_ ”

“Well,” Gwen hedged after a moment, “all of this does make it sound like he would be unhappy without you.”

“Is your Arthur’s happiness what matters most when you ask if you should be his queen?” Gwenhwyfar countered.

Alright, granted. But all her Arthur had ever staked on this was his _earthly_ heart, not his _ever-lasting soul._ Then again, this used to be the done thing once, according to Gwenhwyfar, so maybe it was just a matter of Gwen having trouble with grasping some otherworldly customs.

“My happiness does not matter either,” Gwenhwyfar added. “What matters is that, unlike you, _I_ cannot be queen. And I _know_ that.”

“For certain? Can you not take your own advice,” Gwen wondered, “and look to what the past has shown you are capable of?”

“I am not like you, Guinevere.” Gwenhwyfar chuckled, an entirely hollow and mirthless sound. “I wish I was. I wish I could be. But I have lived my life in war, wandered the world, spent my days in tents and forests instead of castles and courts. Time, for me, has only shown that I am good at battle, that I am – as you say, my lady,” she turned to Guenevere, “impulsive, and reckless, neither of which are queenly virtues.”

She wiped under eyes, catching the few tears that had escaped her. “It’s not like I haven’t thought about it,” she admitted, almost like confessing to a wrong. “I’ve tried to imagine it. What it would be to wear a pretty dress, and live in a palace, have a crown and sit on a throne, have people bow in respect to me as they pass…to be Arthur’s council. But then, I always realize…” She shook her head slowly. “These moments I imagine are…not mine. The girl I see in them, it’s not me. That’s someone else’s life.”

Gwen listened with a heavy heart, sighing when it was done. Yet, the words gave her pause, too. She had imagined such things as well. Plenty of times, since she had fallen in love with Arthur. More than she cared to admit to.

The thing was, when she called the images forth, it _was_ herself she saw. The girl who wore the dresses stacked in the back of Arthur’s closet was only her. It was she, exactly as she was, who gave counsel when Arthur asked, to the point where she knew every word she would speak in answer to any given question. When Arthur had taken her through the courtyard after announcing their betrothal and the people had bowed their heads, it had been exactly as she had imagined – and had made her heart beat as fast as she had thought it would.

And the moment – big, overwhelming, and possibly frightening – she had played over again and again, when she would kneel before the king and he would put a crown on her head – that? That was all hers.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Not this again,” Merlin groaned.

In this form, with a beard that went to his waist and bones that creaked with every movement, he considered he was already too old and tired to be putting up with a nighttime trek through the woods in search of some Horn. He did not need to be putting up with how hopeless his king was, too.

Why, by the Gods, was his favorite story the one about the assassin?

“All I’m saying is,” Arthur persisted, “I think it was romantic.”

“She gave him a human heart in a jar!”

“To show her love!”

They were never going to break this cycle. He was infatuated with every version of the queen there ever was and there was nothing any of her doubles could do that he could not make into a damned love story.

Case in point: a career assassin carved out a man’s heart, put it in a jar and sent it to his double, and Arthur said, “I mean, if Guenevere cut out _my_ enemy’s heart and put it on my table, I’d appreciate the gesture.”

“ _Gesture_ ,” Merlin moaned.

“It’s as a good a way as any to make amends for coming to kill me, don’t you think?”

“I do not.”

“Oh, Dragoon,” Arthur sighed. Merlin frowned. “Can you not, at least, appreciate the fact that she killed not for money, but for justice, and that she turned on Lot the moment she realized he had hired her under false pretenses and lied about my double’s tyranny?”

Yes, yes, he remembered. She travelled the length and breadth of what passed for Albion in her world, looking to serve their just deserts to those who did wrong and were not punished, though not before making sure the accusations against them were true. There was the part about giving most of the coin she earned to starving children or something such, too.

Arthur thought it showed honor. Merlin thought it all showed only one thing.

He trotted down the beaten, westbound dirt road and watched his king, cocking his head as he commented, “There is nothing in the worlds she could do that you would not forgive, is there?”

Arthur seemed confused as to which one they were talking about for a second, then laughed and shrugged. “I can hardly see Guenevere doing something truly unforgivable.”

“I trust the queen as much as you do,” Merlin said, “and I realize that there’s probably no point to this anymore, but you do know that not all of her doubles are like her and worthy of the same consideration, don’t you?”

“You keep telling me that like I’m an idiot. But what you don’t realize,” Arthur told him, jovially, “is that I know Guenevere better than anyone, and _I_ can see some of her in each of her doubles. Sure, one is an assassin and the other is a queen, but they both care for justice. And alright, one is a…terrifying warrior and the other can’t swing a sword to save her life, but they both fight for Camelot. I _know_ they’re not the same,” he said, “but they’re not so different either. That is why I give them the same consideration.”

Merlin raised an eyebrow. “What about on the Black Earth?”

“Um,” Arthur pursed his lips, “she’s still…quite clever in that world.”

“Arthur, you’re both tyrants there.”

“Yes, right, but,” Arthur raised a finger in the air, “at least we’re still together.”

Merlin gave up. “You’re hopeless.”

“And you are stubborn,” Arthur countered. “Otherwise, you’d see that you’re not so different from your doubles either.”

“Please,” Merlin scoffed. “Just the ones in this world make me weep. Emrys alone is as naïve as a child who lives by the teachings of fairytales.”

“Right, because you never did that,” Arthur deadpanned. “You made me king only after I had proven that I was completely competent and not at all because of a dream that Morgana had.”

“I…just didn’t want to do her bidding for the rest of my life, that’s all.”

“Mm.”

“And the Merlin of this world – he got dealt some bad fortune, granted, but he misuses his magic, cowers as a servant, and can barely tell his head from his backside. _I_ am nothing like him.”

“Oh, I think you have some things in common,” Arthur said, looking at him askance. “Or do you forget what _my_ double said upon seeing you?”

Merlin stayed silent for a while, measuring the king from the corner of his eye. Somehow, he always expected to see judgement whenever the subject was brought up. But there was none this time either. “That was Morgana’s idea, too.”

“I’ve made my peace with what the two of you did a long time ago,” Arthur, for all that he was hopeless, could read him as well as a book. “You know, I forgive you a lot of things, too, Merlin.”

“I know.” Merlin nodded solemnly. “And I am grateful, sire.” Arthur only nodded in kind.

“So, um,” Merlin went on after a moment, “what about you? Does _your_ new double teach you something about yourself? Besides the obvious, of course.”

Arthur chuckled, playing with his wedding band. “Nothing I didn’t already know, I suppose.”

“So me wasting away in this world is _entirely_ pointless, then?”

“We are saving a woman’s life.”

“Eh.”

“Caring for others is a virtue,” Arthur said. “And besides, not all teachings are the kind you like to hear, Merlin, the kind that can be put in a book. Some are…just curious things, that may serve for the betterment of yourself, or serve no true purpose at all.”

“Like what?”

“Well, for example, now I know that should _my_ father rise from the dead to commit murder, I should do the exact opposite of everything my double has done. Not that I…foresee that likely happening.”

“Uther actually might. But I don’t foresee Gaius trying to murder anyone from beyond the grave either, no.”

Arthur smiled, eyes cast down. “He’s a physician here,” his voice softened. “That’s ironic, isn’t it?”

When the one thing he’d needed to live and hadn’t gotten in their world was a physician? Yes. “Countless different people, living countless different lives, in countless different worlds,” Merlin said, kindly. “He was bound to be this one thing in one of them.”

“Yeah,” Arthur agreed quietly, then shrugged it off. “See? That’s one of those things that serve no real purpose. It’s just curious. I still like that I know it, though.”

“Yes, sire, I understand now,” Merlin said. He really didn’t, but best to agree with Arthur on the sentimental things. He’d learned that from the queen.

Whether Arthur believed him or not remained undetermined, for he stopped in the middle of their road, looking over his shoulder. “I think we’re far away enough from the palace now that no one will see you. Cast the spell to find Morgana.”

“Your double will be so disappointed that you’re not using all those reports on sightings of her he put together.” But Merlin did have great plans to use them as kindling for a nice, warm fire once they were done with this madness.

He began his incantations, to draw on the magic from the elements to show them the way to those near who had it within them. His king’s logic had been that there could not be many who practiced in these parts – on the account of the oppressive, barbaric bans on its use and all – and that one of, at most, two paths would surely lead to Morgana.

Indeed, one golden line traced a path back towards Camelot and curved in the distance, undoubtedly leading to Merlin’s double. There were, however, a dozen other lines growing every which way from the spot where they stood. Merlin raised an eyebrow.

Arthur scratched his head. “I guess magic isn’t as repressed in Camelot as my double believes.”

“You think?”

“Alright, well…we need a new plan.”

“Or we could just, you know, abandon this folly right now and not needlessly risk our lives.”

Arthur ignored him, looking around like the trees would give him answers and pursing his lips. Then he snapped his fingers. “Do you know what we could do…remember how you found me in Longstead all those years ago?”

Merlin resigned himself to his fate, sighing. “Yes.”

“We could just do that,” Arthur proposed, already rummaging through his bag for the map they’d been given. “Now, granted, we are from different worlds, but my double and I still have the same constitution, which means that Morgana is still my sister, which means,” he knelt on the ground and spread the map out flat, grinning up as he pulled out his dagger, too, “that we can use my blood to draw a path to her on this map. Like you used her blood to find me once.”

Groaning at both his misfortune and the pain in his joints, and wishing he’d never told him of blood magic and its uses, Merlin slowly joined the king on the ground. He still hesitated as the dagger made its way into his hand, though.

“Come on, Merlin,” Arthur goaded and held his hand out, palm facing down. “You’ve been _itching_ for an opportunity like this since the moment I forced you onto this journey. Admit it.”

“You’re smarter than you look, my lord,” Merlin said, and cut across the back of Arthur’s hand.


	14. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AKA The One Where They're Up All Night - Part 2

How a question as innocuous as, _“What do you think of Lord Agravaine?”_ had led to this, Gwen would never understand.

She had been quite comfortable with her plans to spend this night in her home, safe and away to ponder her fate and choices – but she had, of course, reckoned without her doubles.

No sooner had they stopped questioning her reticence to wear the crown that they had moved on to other wonderings, leaving her little time to indulge her own. Guenevere had made the query about Agravaine, to which Gwen had only answered, _“Arthur trusts him.”_

Moments later, Guenevere was in so many words accusing Agravaine of treason.

Over unknown and unwitnessed offenses. And only on the basis of her instincts. Gwenhwyfar had looked strangely proud of her.

When Gwen found it hard to believe that Agravaine would betray his sister’s only son – no matter how cold, sometimes cruel, she found him, no matter how much he disapproved of _her_ – she was met with Guenevere’s raised eyebrow and, _“Considering why your life is in peril at the moment, can you really believe that the bond of family is any sort of guarantee of love?”_

Gwenhwyfar had added, _“He is Morgaine’s only brother, too, is he not?”_

And because their ways of thinking were, in the end, so similar, Gwen could not disagree.

She did wonder about Agravaine. If he was everything he seemed, if he had Arthur’s best interests at heart. Each time he counselled the king poorly, she wondered. It could just be his way of thinking – valuing tradition, believing that a good rule was only one delivered with a strong hand. Or it could be that he had his own agenda.

But treachery was a serious accusation, and it would grieve Arthur endlessly if she ever suggested it. There was no proof of anything, she had said, and no way to know what was truly in Agravaine’s heart.

To that, Gwenhwyfar had, fatefully, smirked and said, _“We could find out.”_

When Gwen hesitated still, on account of persecuting a man for no true reason and quite probably inviting disaster, Guenevere had challenged, _“Are you the future queen or not?”_

That was indeed the question. So, Gwen had risen from her bench, sealed her fate, and said, _“Let’s go then.”_

And now here she was, squatting behind the bushes by the northern gate, getting her best shoes muddied and listening to Guenevere complain about her knees aching from the cold from where she crouched on Gwen’s right.

“Oh, will you stop it?” Gwenhwyfar muttered on her left, their shoulders bumping. “He’ll hear us.”

Agravaine did not hear, neither this nor Guenevere’s responding huff that blew past Gwen’s ear. He still stood where they had followed him to, through the tunnels that led from the dungeons to the secluded gate, shrouded in darkness. He was undoubtedly waiting for something. Or someone.

Gwen squinted her eyes, as if it would make whoever it was materialize in the night. It made no difference.

She withheld a sigh. If no one came, then she was just a fool freezing behind a bush.

Even if someone did come, she may very well still turn out be one. For all she knew, Agravaine could simply be waiting for a lady of the court with whom he dallied in secret.

In any case, she was glad that Arthur was not here to see any of it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Are we there yet?”

“No.”

Two minutes later, Arthur asked again. “How about now?”

Merlin sighed, glancing at him sideways. “Patience, my lord.”

Arthur huffed. He had grown quite tired of this whole endeavor about an hour ago, and had spent just about all that time wondering what had possessed him to let Merlin take him into the pitch-black darkness with only a pair of torches to cut through it. Without telling him where it was they were headed. Or what it was they were trying to find.

“I really don’t understand why you won’t just tell me where we’re going. Or why.”

“Because you wouldn’t believe me,” Merlin said.

“Believe what?”

Keeping half-a-step ahead, Merlin began, “When Gwen’s doubles first came here, I started to wonder. So, before we left, I asked Gaius. And he told me of a story.”

“Oh, good,” Arthur deadpanned. “A bedtime story. Look, Merlin – ”

“Will you just listen?”

Arthur bit back a choice remark, and begrudgingly motioned for him to continue.

Seemingly satisfied, Merlin went on, “Many years ago, when this land was steeped in strife and war, one man sought to put an end to it all. He gathered all the warring kings and queens and had them draw borders across the disputed lands, with the promise that they would each keep to their own, thereby restoring peace to all of Albion. He was the first king of Camelot, ancestor to all those who came after – including you, Arthur.”

“Bruta.” Arthur nodded. “Every child in Camelot knows this story, Merlin.”

“But the part that they do not know,” Merlin proceeded, undeterred, “is that Bruta foresaw that peace would not be kept forever. That there would come a time when his ideas would be challenged, and this land would once more need someone like him to guide it. So, he devised a test. That only someone worthy of his legacy, a true king of Camelot, could pass.”

Finally, he turned back to Arthur, and said, “I believe that is you, Arthur. And I will prove it.”

Arthur stopped. Oh, he saw what this was now. “If this is some misguided, foolish attempt of yours prove that my father is wrong – ”

“It is not misguided,” Merlin did not waver. “Or foolish. Only the truth.”

“That story,” Arthur said, “is the biggest pile of rubbish that I have ever heard in my entire life, and if you think – ”

“Rubbish, is it?” Merlin was grinning now, walking backwards slowly, as the trees behind him began to give way to a clearing. “What’s that then?”

Arthur opened his mouth to retort but it died on his lips as Merlin stepped aside, letting him see it.

It stood in the middle of the small clearing and, despite the darkness, despite only the faint light of their two torches, that which they had come to find nearly glowed in the moonlight, almost as if it had a light of its own.

“A sword in a stone,” Arthur muttered.

For a moment, he was mesmerized, rendered mute by shock.

The blade, forged in a dragon’s breath, that Gwenhwyfar wielded and his double had fished out of a lake while only three people saw, that they said could kill anything, alive or dead – it sat right before his very eyes, in his own world, sunk nearly to the hilt into stone. Just as Dragoon had said it could be.

“Yes.” Merlin came behind him, though his voice somehow sounded far away. “And you are going to pull it out.”

Finally, Arthur snapped out of it, whirling around. “Are you mad?” he let out. And Merlin probably was, because he only smiled like he knew things Arthur did not.

“Have faith, sire.”

“That sword,” Arthur said, “is stuck fast in solid stone, Merlin. No man could pull it out.”

“No, not just any man,” Merlin said. “Only man worthy of the greatest consideration as king – the _greatest_ king this land has ever known. And that is you.”

Arthur closed his eyes, sighing.

“It is meant for you,” Merlin insisted.

“You can’t know that!” Arthur gestured around, then pointed at Merlin, challenging, “How do you know it’s not meant for Guinevere?”

For the first time, Merlin paused, as if he had never quite considered that idea. Then, he shook his head. “It is yours, Arthur,” he repeated, with _infuriating_ conviction. “And I am sure, if Gwen were here to see this, she would tell you the same.”

Would she?

Her face floated through his mind, as he had seen her last, so sad and resigned. She never said it, but he knew he had disappointed her. He hated disappointing her, of all people.

Like he hated disappointing his father.

“Arthur,” Merlin spoke, like he knew exactly what was going through his mind, “she has believed in you all these years. You know she is proud of you.”

Arthur looked away, to the trees, then the ground, and lastly, over his shoulder, to the blade that still sat in its boulder like something out of a dream. It damn near called to him.

“I let her down today,” he said quietly.

“Not everything is lost,” Merlin said. “You can make it up to her. And I,” he added, “can think of no better way to show her, and yourself, that you really are the man she has always thought you to be.”

He moved without even meaning to, as if steered by an invisible hand, turning around fully and sticking his torch into the ground before he stepped forward. His hand was nearly around the pommel by the time he realized what he was doing. He stopped.

“You were right to choose her as your queen,” Merlin was still there, like a guiding voice in his ear, “as you were right to choose to rule Camelot the way you do. And you can prove that – you can prove that your father is wrong to doubt you. You just have to take up that sword.”

Arthur’s hands closed around it in a tight grip.

Alright, easy enough. He just had to take it out. Just take that sword out, and he would not be a terrible king. Just one, quick, miraculous deed, and Guinevere would look at him again the way she did the day he had gotten his crown.

He gave it a tug. It didn’t budge.

He immediately dropped his hands and backed away. “Alright, this is ridiculous, it can’t be done, let’s just get out of here – ”

“You have to believe, Arthur.”

Arthur sighed, watching the light play on the sword’s hilt. He closed his eyes and held on to that memory of Guinevere again, of the moment when he had, just barely crowned king, looked into the crowd and seen her face. She had looked so happy.

“You know, in your heart,” Merlin was saying now, “the kind of kingdom that Camelot should be. The kind it _will_ be, with you, and Gwen, on the throne. Have faith, Arthur,” he repeated, _“and pull that sword out.”_

With new resolve, Arthur reached out with one hand and wrapped it around the pommel.

Eyes still closed, a new image came to his mind – a thing yet to be, where Guinevere was just as happy but it was she who was just barely crowned now, and he held his hand out to her. She slipped her hand in his and he raised it higher, and higher – with no weight, no force to impede it –  then higher still, until she could stand. By the throne, with him, as they faced the crowd that cheered for them.

When he opened his eyes again, the light of the moon shone down on the steel of the blade, engraved with golden runes and pointing to the high heavens.

Arthur could not help the chuckle that escaped him. He had just pulled a sword out of a stone.

And only one person saw.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Gwen could hardly believe what she saw.

She glanced between Guenevere and Gwenhwyfar, just to make sure. They both sported identical looks, eyebrows hiked up high on their foreheads. So, it wasn’t just her, then.

A lady did indeed come out of the darkness to meet Lord Agravaine, but she had definitely not come from the court.

“My lady, I was beginning to think you would not come,” Agravaine said, to which Morgana lowered the hood of her black cloak.

Gwen strained to hear her response, too far away to catch the softly-spoken words, a task further hindered by her companions.

“You were right, Your Highness,” Gwenhwyfar muttered, as if amazed.

Guenevere’s head whipped in her direction. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

“Is this the time?” Gwen hissed.

They mouthed apologies and went quiet, allowing Gwen to listen. She could only make out some words, Morgana saying that Uther had warned her of all the doubles in this world, that Agravaine should try and thwart them where he saw the chance.

What was clear, though, was that Agravaine was a traitor. There was no doubt that he conspired with Morgana against Arthur. Gwen’s heart sank.

Movement on her right caught her eye, and she turned her head just in time to see Gwenhwyfar slowly reach back to draw her sword.

Gwen stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Are you mad?”

“I can take her,” Gwenhwyfar said. It was dark, but Gwen still recognized the look in her eyes. Arthur had the same one whenever he thought that the reckless thing he was about to do was the right one.

Gwen shook her head. “No, you can’t.”

“She has very powerful magic,” Guenevere supplied.

Gwenhwyfar gave a shrug, as if to say, _‘so?’_ “How often have you had the chance to catch her by surprise?” she asked.

“Not nearly as often as you’ve had the chance to get yourself killed, clearly,” Guenevere muttered.

She was about to receive a retort by the way Gwenhwyfar’s mouth opened, but Gwen dug her fingers in to draw her attention.

“You said that because you are impulsive, it makes you unfit to be queen,” she said when Gwenhwyfar’s eyes cut over to her. “This is your chance to prove otherwise. Surely,” she urged, “you can see that there is a better way?”

Gwenhwyfar’s arm relaxed, though she still did not lower it, looking uncertain.

Gwen took advantage and pressed. “Do not let your hatred for the Morgana you know cloud your judgement,” she said, “as it did with Uther.”

Slowly, Gwenhwyfar dropped her arm. She pulled air in through her nose, then, averting her gaze, admitted, “You’re right.”

Guenevere’s mouth hung open. “Your time here has changed you.”

Gwenhwyfar only spared her a glance, mouth twitching. “Why do _you_ sound so surprised?”

Satisfied that a disaster had been averted, Gwen turned back to Morgana and Agravaine. Agravaine was speaking but Morgana hardly seemed to listen, instead casting looks around the grounds as if searching for something. Her eyes cut right over the bushes where they hid, and Gwen stopped breathing, her heart beating faster.

She willed it to slow down, for fear that Morgana might somehow hear and find her.

But the moment passed, and Morgana’s gaze moved on elsewhere.

Soon, she was drawing her hood back on and returning to the night where she had come from, having apparently concluded her business here. Agravaine still lingered, watching her go.

Gwen could finally breathe again.

“So,” Guenevere spoke, “now what?”

“We wait for Arthur to return,” Gwen whispered.

“And give Agravaine time to do whatever nefarious thing he means to do?”

Gwen looked over to her. “This matter is delicate. He is the king’s uncle.”

“I understand that. But who knows where the king has gone and when he will return, and yet time is of the essence. You should send for the knights.”

“I have no authority to send for his arrest.” Gwen shook her head.

“Yet the king trusts you,” Guenevere retorted. “In the eyes of his knights, it must count for something.”

“Perhaps,” Gwen allowed, “but I can’t just – this will break Arthur’s heart.”

“A sad thing indeed,” Guenevere agreed, if flatly, “but it does not change what needs to be done.”

“I _know_ that,” Gwen said, “but I still – no matter what we saw here tonight, I still have no proof of his treachery.”

“Surely, your word will suffice?”

Gwen bit her lip. “I don’t – ”

There was a sharp sound and then a muffled yelp, followed a dull thud, as if a sack of grain had fallen into the mud with a splash.

When Gwen frantically looked over, Agravaine was sprawled on the ground unconscious, and Gwenhwyfar stood above him, lazily flicking her sword in one hand.

Gwen and Guenevere jumped to their feet as one. “What have you done?”

“What?” Gwenhwyfar frowned at them. “I can take _him._ ”

It was her own mistake, really, Gwen thought. Wasting time convincing Guenevere when she really should have spent it restraining Gwenhwyfar.

“And what do you suppose we’ll do with him now?” she asked.

“Take him back to the palace,” Gwenhwyfar said simply, “fetch whichever knight it is your king leaves in charge of matters, then have this traitor thrown in the dungeons.”

Oh, a woman with a plan. 

“Do you know what,” Guenevere spoke, “I take back what I said. You’ve not changed that much.”

Gwenhwyfar pursed her lips, then, because it would have apparently changed things somehow, said, “I wish Arthur were here.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“I wish I were anywhere but here.”

“I thought you enjoyed my company?” Emrys said.

“Not when you won’t shut up,” Arthur retorted.

They trudged down a valley, tucked within some rocks on each side and covered with fallen leaves up to the ankles, as if no one had passed through it in a long, long time. Arthur truly hoped this was the valley they were looking for. He had had quite enough of this journey.

And Emrys once again demonstrated _why_ when he kept prattling on. “Well, we’re friends, aren’t we? And as your friend, is it not my place to tell you when I think you’re making a mistake?”

“Ten times in a row?” Arthur deadpanned.

“It’s just that you don’t seem to be getting my point.”

Were he still a prince in the court of Camelot, before his sister had decided to call for his head, Arthur would meet such badgering with a tongue-tying curse that made Emrys unable to speak from full moon to full moon. But he could not do that now. Probably.

“And what point is that?” Arthur asked.

_That you’re a cabbage-head,_ Emrys spoke into his mind, giving him a sideways smirk.

Arthur smiled despite himself, but it faded quickly. “You don’t seem to be getting my point either, Emrys,” he said. “This was Gwen’s idea.”

“So it was,” Emrys agreed reluctantly. “Does that mean you should do everything she says? You should do what you believe is right, too. Be true to yourself.”

“You also forget,” Arthur reminded, “that I happen to think the same.”

Emrys sighed now, a long and drawn-out sound. He had been doing that a lot.

“Have it your way,” he caved, then sped up his pace so he could walk a couple of steps ahead.

Arthur would have called it a victory – a moment of peace and quiet, at long last – except that with Emrys no longer there to force him to justify himself, he had no escape from what was on his mind. What was always on his mind, really.

She carried a part of his soul with her, for heaven’s sake.

Not for the first time, he wondered what he had been thinking. To bind himself forever to someone when it could never last. Morgaine would say that the depths of his heart were matched only the by the depths of his stupidity.

But then he felt Gwen with him – her presence in every moment he drew breath, even now, in this backwards world – and the sense of peace it gave him, the likes of which he had not known since leaving Camelot. He remembered that it had helped him find her when she was lost, and he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

The kiss they shared when he healed her injuries came to his mind again and again, every moment of it – how she had grabbed on to him, how it felt to hold her again, how much he had missed her –

_Are you thinking about her?_

_Shut. Up. Emrys._

Emrys looked over his shoulder at him and, his expression betraying nothing, said, “I was talking about your future wife.”

Arthur’s jaw ticked.

He had half-a-mind to cast that curse after all, but came to a sudden stop. As did Emrys. A cave’s entrance stood to their side, and there was no mistaking the energy that came from it. Arthur did not think he had ever felt such a pure touch of magic before.

“I think we’re here,” he said.

Emrys’s mood shifted. He grew, finally, quiet, and solemn, shoulders squared and taut as he stepped forward. Arthur followed suit.

The fairy light he had conjured to light their path followed them then sped ahead, showing them each turn to take and each spot where they should watch their step as they made their way through the cave’s chambers. Neither spoke a word.

They did not need the fairy light to know when they had come upon what they were truly looking for. The chamber glowed on its own, from what had to be a hundred crystals set inside it. If Arthur could believe there was ever one place where all magic was born, this would be it.

_Now what?_ Emrys asked.

_This is your journey, my friend,_ Arthur answered.

Emrys swallowed and nodded, then bravely ventured forward. Arthur’s heart beat faster as he watched him go, then slowly fade out of sight the further he went. He had watched him suffer since the day he had met him, seeing magic all around him yet missing his – heard all the stories of the great sorcerer he had once been.

What felt like an hour passed as Arthur only waited. Sometimes, he thought he could hear voices, as if Emrys were speaking to someone. He thought he could hear the crystals calling to him, too. He knew better than to try and take a closer look.

Finally, after near eternity, Emrys came out of the shadows once more. He stopped a little ways away, expressionless and unchanged as far as Arthur could see. His eyes brimmed with tears.

Arthur held his breath. He did not dare ask, or even speak a word, as he waited for Emrys to say something. If it had not worked…

But then, Emrys smiled a face-splitting grin, spread his arms, and a hundred blue butterflies sprung from thin air and filled every corner of the cave.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Voices filled every corner of his mind, like nagging whispers of his name drawing him out of his sleep.

Leon opened his eyes, blinked once, then sprung up in the bed.

“Gwen! What – ” He trailed off, taking in the sight in his sleeping quarters.

He looked from Gwen, who stood wringing her hands at the foot of his bed, to both her doubles – Guenevere, who had made herself comfortable in the one chair he had, and Gwenhwyfar, who stood leaning against his wardrobe with her arms crossed – then lastly, to the pile of black clothing in a heap on his floor. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be the listless form of Lord Agravaine.

Leon slowly dragged his eyes back to Gwen. “What’s going on?”

“It’s a long story,” Gwen said.

He listened to her recount it, from how her suspicions had arisen from things Guenevere had seen and told, to how they all witnessed Lord Agravaine conspire with Morgana, right in the very heart of Camelot.

The gravity of this revelation weighed fully on Leon’s mind – just nearly erasing the absurdity of having three of the same lady and an unconscious lord in his chambers in the middle of the night.

“And why is he knocked out?”

Gwenhwyfar rolled her eyes. “Well, excuse me,” she said, “if I thought this matter should be handled efficiently.”

That explained it, then.

“Why have you not gone to the king?” he asked Gwen.

“He’s not here.”

Leon frowned. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know.” Gwen shook her head. “I saw him leave with Merlin earlier. I’ve no idea where he’s gone – or when he’ll return. I could only come to you.”

Leon said nothing for a time.

Gwen must have mistaken the reason behind his silence, for she bit her lip, then added, with fervor, “I know what I saw. I would not lie about this.”

“I do not doubt you,” Leon assured. She blinked once, as if surprised, then smiled in gratitude.

“Agravaine should be put in the dungeons before he can do further harm,” she said next, with greater resolve. “But this matter must be handled with care.”

“I agree,” Leon said, then came to a swift decision. “You should go, return to your chambers. I will take care of Lord Agravaine.”

The three did as he asked, and some time later, he did find them all again in Gwen’s guest quarters. He came inside when he was bid entrance – now finally looking dignified again in his armor – then quietly shut the door.

Gwen stepped forward to meet him halfway. “How is it?”

“The knights and I have arrested Lord Agravaine for treason,” Leon informed. “On the orders of the king.”

Her eyes went wide. “Leon – ”

“It is better this way,” he said. “No one knows Arthur has gone. Hopefully, he will have returned by morning, in time to bring Agravaine before the court.”

Gwen nodded along, though she still seemed torn. “How do you know that Arthur would approve of this?”

“Do you?” he asked in turn.

“Well, yes, but – ”

“Then I am sure,” Leon said simply. “After all, in the absence of the king,” he added with a smile, “such decisions fall to the queen.”

Her brown furrowed, as if weighted by uncertainty. Leon assumed she wondered, yet officially crownless, if the king would agree.

“Arthur trusts you,” he reassured. “He has chosen you to be his queen. I know, that if he were here, he would tell me to do as you say.”

Her expression softened. She nodded once more, firmly this time, then said, “Tell the others that the king wishes for his uncle to spend a night in the cells to think on his crimes. That should keep them from asking too many questions.”

“Of course,” he agreed.  “I know it is not easy,” he added, gently, when her brow still creased in a frown, “to decide a man’s fate. To have him condemned on your word. But he is a traitor, and you have done the right thing.”

“I know, I just…” Gwen shrugged, then finally, offered him a smile. “I cannot tell you how much it means to me,” she said, “that you would trust me this way. Thank you.”

In Leon’s mind, she had earned it long ago. No one could deny her loyalty to the king. And, in these strange times when she was made to tell him all this in front of two creatures who bore her likeness yet came from entirely different worlds, he believed no one could deny her strength either.

So, he only bowed his head, and simply said, “My lady.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Morgana crossed the threshold to her hovel, lowering the hood of her heavy cloak. She had ventured to Camelot herself with the intent to, for Agravaine’s ears, inform him of what Uther had told her. To tell him to thwart them where he could, now that she knew they wielded immortal weapons.

The truth was, perhaps she had just wanted to see them. These creatures that her sister had once told her of, partly teachings and partly legend, that were just like them, bore their likeness and their names, yet led entirely different lives, in a world just as real as this one.

But she had come upon none.

Either way, it mattered not. It changed nothing of their plans. Uther would see his purpose through, no matter the obstacles. He owed her at least this.

Closing the door shut behind her, she turned around – and froze in the spot.

“Hello, Morgana.”

In the middle of her hovel, was Arthur.

She smirked. It seemed she had come upon one of the creatures after all.

She might have even mistaken him for the one she knew, but unless he had taken to wearing a beard and more fanciful armor, then he was another one entirely. Her eyes slipped to where the hilt of a sword shone golden at his hip.

“My dear brother,” she sneered.

“I am not the Arthur you know,” he said.

“Indeed not.”

He looked completely unbothered to be here, to be in her presence – at ease, even. She did not give all that much thought to what it would be like to see her true brother again, but he would certainly not look at her like this. Almost kindly, like he used to back when she believed they were friends.

She pushed that thought away. “Who brought you here?” she demanded, her mouth thinning. “Was it Emrys?”

“I will tell you if you answer a question for me first,” he said, then raised an eyebrow. “Where is the Horn?”

She laughed, then hardened her expression once more. “You should leave.”

He shook his head, ever so slightly. “Not before I have what I came for.”

He was as brave as Arthur, she would grant him that. And just as stupid.

“I have no quarrel with you,” she warned, “but I will not hesitate to end your life any more than I would my brother’s. Or that of his beloved Guinevere.” She raised an eyebrow. “Or yours.”

His jaw ticked. They even had the same weak spot.

“Why should you care anyway?” she asked, truly curious. “About the life of a stranger from another world? It does not concern you.”

“Sometimes, we can only do what we believe is right.” He shrugged. “To hell with the consequences.”

He said as if he knew it would mean something to her. As if he knew _her._

“I know you must believe that, too,” he went on. “I know you. I know that what you truly love is magic. That what you seek is just the chance to be free. To be yourself. But this is not the way.” He shook his head. “You know I’m right. Put an end to this, Morgana. There is still time.”

Morgana ground her teeth. “I am not the Morgana you know either.”

“You are to me,” he said, completely earnest. “No matter the world, no matter our circumstances, you are always my sister. And I always love you.”

Tears began to sting her eyes and Morgana furiously blinked them away, anger bubbling inside her. At this arrogant, foolish man, who preached to her as if they were of a kind. And beneath that, anger at that part of herself, that she still carried from a time when she was younger, and scared –  that deep part of her that had always just wanted for Arthur to, one day, accept her for what she was.

She raised her chin. “I am a seer.”

Arthur’s double nodded, even smiled, just the faintest bit. “A powerful gift.”

 If only for a moment, her heart broke.

“I had a dream that I could not explain,” she said. “I saw myself hold a child in my arms, singing lullabies of the Old Religion to put it to sleep. And then, when Uther told me of you, I realized – because of my great power, you coming into this world let me see a future beyond that of my own.” She swallowed. “That child…she’s yours, isn’t she?”

His smile was true now. “Yes.”

Of course. Those big, brown eyes on that little girl – there was only one woman who could have passed them on to her. Morgana had looked into them a thousand times before.

That sadness she felt when she had woken from the dream came over her again. Because that was not her life – because it was not she who was happy, and loved, because it would never be her that held that child and sent it to sleep with words of magic.

And then it passed.

“It is a shame,” she said, “that she will never have a chance to be born in this world. Not when her mother will be dead even before the night is done.”

For one long, unending moment, Arthur’s double only looked on her with mournful eyes, his face falling. Then, his expression showed nothing at all.

“The Horn, Morgana,” he demanded, his voice hard now. “I will not ask again.”

“Nor will I,” she retorted, raising her hand in the air, ready to end him on the spot. He did not move.

“Before you try and strike me down, you should know,” he said, gaze flicking to the side, “I did not come alone.”

She barely had a moment to turn, and catch a glimpse of the old face and white hair and beard that haunted her nightmares, before she was thrown back and the world turned black.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“I have the Horn,” Merlin said, gesturing to the protruding spot where he had hid it within the lining of his red robes. “Might this be the time for us to finally get out of here?”

Arthur did not answer, instead walking over to where Morgana had crashed to the ground and kneeling next to her. He sighed over her unconscious form, then gathered her in his arms and picked her up.

Merlin watched in silence as he carried her to her small, narrow bed and placed her atop the covers, before saying, “You know, she is no threat now. One move of my hand, and we could put an end to her right here. You would be doing your double a great favor.”

“That is not for us to decide,” Arthur said, covering Morgana with a blanket.

“Oh, so, _now_ we’re not meddling in the fates of other worlds?”

Arthur said nothing.

“For all that you have learned, sire,” Merlin said, almost gently, “you still think only with your heart.”

Arthur nodded along absently. He cast one last look at the bed, then straightened back up.

“Goodbye, Morgana,” he said, and motioned for them to leave.


	15. Chapter 13

Dawn broke as Arthur crept through the palace on silent feet, keeping to the shadows and avoiding the servants who had just begun their day. He did not want to be seen quite yet.

He and Merlin had returned from the woods and crossed paths with all four of their doubles at the gates of Camelot. Guenevere’s husband and Dragoon had produced the famed horn they had gone to find, much to Arthur’s relief. Gwenhwyfar’s prince and Merlin’s double had also come back from some kind of journey. They did not say what and Arthur did not ask.

He left them all to their own devices as he snuck into the castle. Armed with his new blade, which now hung from his belt, and the knowledge that his double and Dragoon had indeed been successful in their quest, he was filled with renewed confidence as he made his way to Guinevere’s guest quarters.

Before anyone else, he needed to see her.

Pulling the side door to her chambers open and closing it behind him just as quietly, he approached the large bed where she slept with careful steps.

She lay on her side under the blankets, still sound asleep, with her hands tucked under her cheek. For a moment, Arthur simply stood watching her, then brushed a strand of hair that had come out of her braid away from her forehead.

“Guinevere,” he softly called her name.

She stirred, eyelashes fluttering as she slowly came out of her sleep. A smile touched her lips when she first caught sight of him – before her eyes went wide and she shot up in the bed. Her mouth opened as if she were about to be loud but remembered herself just in time, and what came out instead was a whispered shout of his name. “ _Arthur!_ ”

“Sorry.” He pressed his lips together to stifle a smile. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“What – ” She blinked at him. “Where were you?”

“That’s…a long story.”

Guinevere bit her lip. “Have you spoken to the knights yet?”

Arthur frowned. “No, I – ”

“There is something you should know.”

“Whatever it is, I’m sure it can wait. Guinevere – ”

“No, Arthur, you – ”

“There is something I must show you first. Please,” he said, holding a hand out to her.

She hesitated for a moment still before she finally slipped her hand in his. She threw back the covers and slid off the bed, tucking her bare feet into her slippers as she stood. Arthur led her to the table and helped her settle into one of the chairs, then went to fetch her a shawl to wrap around her nightdress when she rubbed her arms against the morning chill.

She nodded in thanks then turned curious eyes on him, expectant. Arthur said nothing, only drew his new sword from its scabbard and laid it on the table before her.

“Whose is it?” she asked.

Arthur took a breath, turned his chair to face her as he sat down, and simply said, “Mine.”

“I don’t understand.”

He told her of Merlin’s bedtime stories, the sword in the stone and what it was supposed to mean. She interrupted only once, as she gently drew her fingers over the pommel, to ask, “You said Merlin knew where to find it?”

“Yes,” Arthur said. She made no further query.

He went on, to tell her everything of the journey he had been on, then of the impossible thing he had done, with Merlin and the forest as his only witnesses.

When he was finished, Guinevere did not speak for what felt like the longest time.

Arthur fought the urge to wring his hands in the silence, his whole body tight with a kind of urgency. He needed her to approve. It was all he had been waiting for since the moment he had pulled that sword out.

When he couldn’t bear to wait anymore, he asked, “What do you think?”

At last, her eyes brightened, and her mouth lifted into a smile. Arthur’s heart lifted with it.

“It’s amazing,” she said. “I am so proud of you, Arthur.”

A slow grin spread across his face. When Guinevere said it, it finally felt true.

“Though I never needed a sword,” she added, her voice softening, “to tell me you would be a great king.”

“Nor I another,” Arthur said, “to tell me that you would be a great queen.”

Her smile slipped. “I – ”

He reached out with his hands and took hers to put a stop to her arguments. There was something he needed to say first.

“I’m sorry that I wasn’t much help yesterday.”

A great thing about pulling a sword out of a stone was that it gave one incredible clarity in some matters.

“What I should have said,” Arthur went on, “is that, if anyone understands what it is to question your ability to rule, it’s me.” All the gods in all the worlds knew probably it. “But I believe in you,” he told her, “more than…I have ever believed in myself, or anyone else.”

“Arthur…” Guinevere’s voice shook slightly.

He wrapped his fingers around hers and held on. “Of course, you were right, too,” he said. “We would not be having this problem with my father if you were more like your double. After all, she is a lady of great standing. The daughter of a king.”

Guinevere nodded. “Mm.”

“But I,” Arthur said, holding her gaze, “fell in love with the daughter of a blacksmith. There isn’t anything, that I would ever change about you.” Slipping one hand out of her grasp, he put a finger under her chin, and raised it higher. “Always thought you were perfect.”

And the smile she gave him in return was nothing short of it, either.

His eyes lingered on it for a moment, before he quirked an eyebrow. “Do you still want to marry me?”

She chuckled. “That was never in question.”

“So, that’s still a yes, then?”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, with all my heart.”

Arthur did not wait a moment more to lower his mouth to hers, kissing her softly.

“You’ve got me,” he promised against her lips. “Anything you need to know, I’ll teach you.”

Guinevere nodded slowly, resting her forehead against his. Yet the very next moment, she drew back. “Arthur, there is really something I  – ”

Then the warning bells started tolling.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Gwenhwyfar.” Someone poked her shoulder. “Gwenhwyfar.”

She pulled her dagger from under the pillow and had it at their throat in a heartbeat. Then lowered it back down in the next, huffing.

“For the love of the Goddess, Emrys.”

He stood by the bed of the chambers she had been given, grinning wider than she had ever seen him. Intrigued and a touch wary, she climbed out of bed, dragging her narrowed eyes from Emrys to Arthur, who stood impassive a few feet away, then lastly, to the windows. It was barely dawn.

“Where have you two been?” she demanded.

Emrys opened his mouth as if to answer, then cocked his head. “What on Earth are you wearing?”

Gwenhwyfar pursed her lips. “It was all they would give me.”

_It_ being a damned nightdress – because Guinevere had insisted that she should not spend another night sleeping in her clothes and, _“you should have those washed, please.”_

White, long and with an embroidered neckline, it was the sort of thing worn by ladies who did apparently not need any range of motion for their legs – and who had _certainly_ never taken up a sword in their lives. She had flexed her arms _once_ and the seams had popped.

Gwenhwyfar had proceeded to tear off the sleeves altogether and throw them into the fireplace.

Emrys nodded. “You wear it well.”

She crossed her bare arms. “ _Emrys._ ”

Her tone put no dent in his good mood. He beamed at her again, saying, “I have something to show you.”

“Which is?”

She felt it a split-second before she saw anything at all. A powerful surge of magic, old and familiar, before Emrys’s eyes turned from blue to gold and every candle in the room was set alight with a tall flame.

They subsided slowly, as did the light in Emrys’s eyes, but Gwenhwyfar stayed rooted in the spot, staring at him. “What – how did – what – ”

“I found a way.” Emrys was nodding, his eyes filling with tears even as his smile somehow grew even bigger. “I did it.”

Gwenhwyfar threw her arms around him. He hugged her back with equal force, laughing in her ear.

“You have your magic back,” she said, her voice trembling. She had to say it aloud to believe it.

She felt him nod once more, followed by the wetness of his tears on her neck. Over his shoulder, she met Arthur’s eyes. She did not need any words, out loud or in her mind, to understand he felt everything she did.

Nor to remember the reason why his smile slipped the longer he held her gaze.

Shaking that thought away, she brought her attention back to Emrys, ruffling his hair fondly as she pulled away.

She opened her mouth to ask how he had done it, and was drowned out by the sounds of the warning bells.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

A hand slipped over her middle under the covers as the bed dipped, and a warm chest pressed against her back.

Guenevere did not open her eyes. “You better be my husband,” she muttered.

His beard scratched her ear as he pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. “Indeed.”

She hummed, lacing her fingers with his o as she twisted around to face him.

He gave her a fond smile. “Did you miss me?”

She kissed his forehead then his mouth. “I did.”

“And I you,” Arthur said, as he always did, drawing her closer. She burrowed deeper into the warmth of him, the tension she had carried all through the night finally seeping out of her. He was back. It made everything better.

Over his shoulder, she caught a peek through the heavy drapes that hung over the windows. The sky was bright and grey. First light, if she had to guess.

Arthur’s armor was in a pile on the floor.

“How was it?” she asked softly.

“We have the Horn,” he said. “Merlin has taken it to Gaius’s quarters. He should be working on the enchantment as we speak.”

“And Morgana?”

“You were right,” was all he said.

Guenevere sighed, shifting around so they were chest to chest, and put her arm around him. “It changes nothing of who your sister really is.”

“I know.”

He hadn’t ever given her a reason to question it. Never once had she seen him doubt Morgana for having met one, or a dozen, of her doubles who wished him dead. For someone who so greatly believed in the constants of the worlds, he believed greatly in her, too.

He had a bigger heart than Guenevere ever did, and she loved him for that, too.

“I’m sorry,” she said, running her fingers through his hair. His eyes drifted shut. If she kept it up, he might fall asleep.

“It is what it is,” he muttered, drawing lazy patterns along her back. Voice hushed, he told her of a seer’s dream the Morgana of this world had dreamt – of their daughter, their Morgana, in their world.

“Did Merlin hear?” she asked.

“Mm. He says he’s the one who’s supposed to teach our daughter magic and that this means Morgana will surely try and cheat.”

“Sounds about right.” Guenevere chuckled.

Arthur smiled, slowly opening his eyes. “I’d never heard of it before. Seeing the future of other worlds.”

“You learn something new every day.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You would admit that even this world has something to teach us?”

That he asked only served to show how well he knew her. She almost denied it on principle alone, too. But – “Yes,” she conceded. “Even here, we have things to learn.”

“I’m glad you see things my way,” he said, leaning forward to kiss her.

She smiled into it, and never said that she was starting to suspect that if this world would teach her anything, it would be things about herself. Not necessarily those she wanted to admit, either.

“So,” Arthur asked, trailing his mouth along her jaw, then her shoulder, “did _you_ do anything interesting while I was gone?”

Only if he considered being instrumental in catching a traitor interesting. “Well – ”

Her story got lost in the sounds of the warning bells.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Agravaine has escaped, my lord,” Leon informed. “He tricked one of the guards into opening his cell then nearly strangled him to knock him out. He is gone.”

Gwen took the news in silence, wrapping the shawl tighter around her shoulders as she glanced sideways at Arthur. Barely moments ago, standing in much the same spot, he had looked so happy. Now his face was set in stone.

“Will he be alright?” Arthur asked, arms crossed. “The guard?”

Leon nodded. “Gaius believes so.”

“Good.” Arthur said nothing for a moment, then ordered, voice as devoid of emotion as his expression, “Search the lower town and the surrounding woods. Agravaine couldn’t have gotten that far. I want him found.”

“My lord.” Leon took his instructions readily, bowing his head before setting off to carry them out. He exchanged one last look with Gwen before he was out the door.

He left silence in his wake once more. Gwen did not speak, only watched as Arthur’s shoulders slowly slumped, then as he dragged himself to the nearest chair, and finally, lowered himself into it, burying his face in his hands.

Gwen’s heart sank.

Her feet were already carrying her to him before she had even given it any thought. Halfway there, she paused, unsure. “If you’d like a moment alone…”

Arthur only shook his head.

She took another step closer, until he was nearly within her reach. “I’m sorry if this wasn’t what you wanted,” she began, “but you mustn’t blame the knights. I saw Agravaine with Morgana, and they thought – ”

“No.” Arthur lowered his hands, though he still did not meet her eye. “You did the right thing. They were right to listen to you.”

“You must believe I would not have accused him if I wasn’t sure.”

“I know.” Arthur slowly nodded. Besides, Agravaine had fled. Although not only guilty men did so, Gwen imagined that his escape confirmed his treachery in Arthur’s mind.

“I truly am sorry,” she said.

When he finally looked up at her, Arthur’s eyes were heavy with unshed tears.

Gwen sighed. “Oh, Arthur…”

Without a word, he reached with one hand to bring her closer and wrapped his arms around her. Gwen brought hers around him in kind, threading her fingers through his hair as he rested his forehead against her shoulder.

“I cared for him,” Arthur spoke quietly. “Like I did for my father. For _Morgana_. I just, I don’t understand. What have I done wrong, why do they all hate me?”

Gwen would that she had the answers. But she could no more hope to understand Agravaine, or Uther, than she once had Morgana – in the end, the best she could do was only to accept that she had changed.

“You’ve done nothing wrong, Arthur,” Gwen soothed. That much, at least, she could say.

“Then have they all betrayed me?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I wish I did. But,” she added, despite it all, “I do not think your that father hates you.”

“You sound like Merlin,” Arthur said wryly.

“Well, he has been right on occasion.”

It got Arthur to smile ever so slightly against her shoulder, if nothing else.

Gwen closed her eyes and held him tighter, pressing her lips to his forehead. When she ran her fingers along his jaw to get him to look at her, Arthur slowly raised his head.

“I do not know what Agravaine, or Morgana, hold against you,” she told him, “nor why Uther sees only his way of doing things. But you – ” she took his face in her hands – “are a good man, Arthur. You are a good king. You’ve proved that.” She stoked his cheek fondly. “Whatever happens, you must continue to believe that.”

Though his eyes were still red, his mouth lifted into the barest of smiles. Gwen smiled back, then wider still when his gaze slipped to the sword he had sheathed in its scabbard and laid out on the table.

She imagined people would have many questions about it. Truthfully, she did, too, even if they were really meant for only one person in particular.

“I’d understand,” she said, playing with the ends of Arthur’s hair, “if, with what’s happened, you’d still want to postpone the – ”

“No!” Arthur’s answer was immediate, then came again, softer, “No.” He tightened his arms around her. “The only thing that makes this easier to bear is knowing that tomorrow is our wedding day.”

Gwen dipped her head to kiss his mouth. “I do look forward to it.”

Arthur kept her close with a hand at the back of her head, every so often brushing his lips against hers. Gwen let her eyes drift shut and stayed with him this way, neither of them saying much else.

The quiet would surely not last, not when the castle was waking even sooner than it should with the news of Agravaine’s escape. Certainly not when the starting hour of last day of the tournament neared with each passing moment – a matter made all the more complex by the fact their doubles were meant to attend it in their stead.

Indeed, a knock sounded at the door, followed once again by Leon’s voice, saying, as had often been the case these past couple of days, “Sire, the tournament.”

Arthur and Gwen sighed as one.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Now, remember, Sir Leon favors his left,” Arthur reiterated, standing with his double in one of the tents upon the tournament grounds, “Gwaine takes too long to raise his lance, and Percival always aims for the right shoulder.”

“Got it.” His double nodded with confidence.

Now dressed in Arthur’s own armor, clean-shaven and after his wife had taken a pair of scissors to his hair, they were so alike that Arthur could probably not distinguish him from his own reflection in the mirror. His appearance would certainly be enough to fool the people of Camelot.

Arthur remained to be convinced that his skills would, too. “Just,” he sighed softly, “try not to embarrass me.”

“Have no fear.”

A moment later, and with great sympathy, his double added, “I am sorry, though. About your uncle. It can’t be easy.”

Arthur quickly schooled his features so they would not betray him. Getting involved with this subterfuge and badgering his double with minutia about the knights’ weak spots had at least taken his mind off it.

It had lasted all of ten minutes.

Perhaps this ploy was welcome in more ways than one. If Guinevere’s safety was still the main reason he had allowed their doubles to take their place in the tournament, the truth was, Arthur felt in no mood to compete.

He acknowledged his double with a short, “Thanks,” looking away.

“Well, take heart. At least you’ve pulled a sword out of a stone, right?”

Arthur’s mouth twitched. News spread fast indeed. Merlin’s big mouth probably had a lot to do with it.

“The truth is,” Arthur said quietly, “it alone does not comfort me. Guinevere’s support does.”

It got a chuckle out of his double.

“At the end of the day, no matter how mighty, a sword is still just a sword,” he said. “If it means nothing to those you care for, it will mean nothing to you.” He shrugged. “And even if it means the world to you, it may not mean anything at all to those you care for.”

“Is that your way of saying that even _it_ would not have changed my uncle’s allegiances?” Arthur asked dryly.

“Just in case you were wondering.”

He had, if only for a moment, and that his doppelganger could guess his mind so well made him uncomfortable in his own skin. Still, he pressed, “How can you know that? I don’t even know why…” He swallowed. “Why he betrayed me.”

“If he found such faults with you that he would rather serve your worst enemy, then no great deed or symbol would have been enough to change his mind.”

It was, unfortunately, sound logic. Wise, even. The sort of thing a man learned through his own trials. “Speaking from experience?”

“With Agravaine? Oh, no. The one I know is the most loyal man you will ever meet,” his double said. “Mother _loves_ him.”

Arthur froze. “Mo – Mother?”

It seemed to dawn on his double just a moment too late. He pressed his lips together, nodding once. “She is alive.”

Arthur’s chest constricted so violently that he had to catch his breath. Mother, Agravaine, Morgana – his double had all of them, he had all of their love for himself. If only for a split-second, Arthur envied and resented him with every fiber of his being.

“Like…Dragoon says,” his double offered, as if in a placating gesture, “countless people, leading countless lives, in countless worlds. She was bound to be this one thing in one of them. As was Agravaine. Not all lives are foretold.”

Pressing a fist to his mouth to calm himself, Arthur took time to let it sink in. When it did, the words gave him pause. “Can I ask you something?”

“If you want.”

“Must everyone,” Arthur spoke, barely above a whisper, “who exists in one world also exist in the next?”

His double mulled it over. “Not necessarily,” he decided. “I have known some in one world that I have not known anywhere else. But it is also true that we do not all come into existence at the same time in one world as we do in the next,” he added with a smile – again, as if he could guess Arthur’s very thoughts. “That _my_ daughter has been born already does not mean that yours will not be in future.”

“And if – ” Arthur bit his lip – “if that’s not what I want?”

His answer was long to come. In the end, it was simply, “Then it might be that she will truly never be born in this world.”

Arthur said nothing, only nodded his head quickly as he cast his eyes to the ground. Was it wrong that the thought brought him such relief?

“Well,” his double broke the silence, “I should probably get going.”

“Right.” Arthur cleared his throat. “Here.” He went to fetch a smaller lance off the rack, just for practice. Just before he presented it to his double, he paused, eyes narrowed. “You _do_ know how to joust, don’t you?”

“Of course,” his double dismissed the alternative as if it were ludicrous, and Arthur cautiously transferred the lance to him. He took hold of it with the utmost confidence, tucking it under his arm.

It faced the wrong way around.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Humming a song under her breath, Gwenhwyfar turned over yet another shirt, inspected it, then tossed it over her shoulder with the rest.

Guinevere had, kindly, offered to let her help herself to anything in her closet, as her own clothes were still drying on a string somewhere. So far, the effort had been quite fruitless, what with most of the shirts Guinevere had being either too tight, too short – or too frilly.

At least she had found a nicely fitted pair of trousers, so there was at least that.

Not that anything had the power to put a damper on her mood. Emrys had his magic back. It was everything they had hoped for since the day Morgaine had taken it. Arthur, too, had grown his own magic in coming to this world – and his sister was none the wiser. Finally, they had the upper hand.

Gwenhwyfar was so happy about it, in fact, that she did not even dwell on the fact that both those things came to be under circumstances that defied everything she believed in.

The door of the royal chambers opened then shut, followed by a moment of silence, and then, “Guinevere?”

“No,” Gwenhwyfar replied, “it’s me.” Although, considering they had the same voice, it probably did not help Guinevere’s king much.

His footsteps drew nearer, then stopped quite abruptly. When Gwenhwyfar turned around, Arthur had spun away in his spot and put his hands on his hips, head tilted up as if towards the heavens.

She frowned at his back. “What is the matter with you?”

“You – ” Arthur sighed. “You’re not wearing a shirt.”

Gwenhwyfar glanced down at her naked chest, then back up, raising an eyebrow. “You lead an army,” she said. “Surely, you’re used to your men undressing in front of you?”

“Yes, they are…men.”

She had nearly forgotten that this world was backwards in more ways than one.

Rolling her eyes, Gwenhwyfar gave the closet her full attention once more. All this talk of men did give her a working solution to her predicament.

Hands reaching towards an altogether different pile of shirts, she said, “Well, I am sorry to have offended your sensibilities, my lord.”

“That’s not what – ” Whatever he meant to say, he gave up. “Why are you actually rifling through my wardrobe?”

“Your Guinevere said that I could borrow some of her clothes,” Gwenhwyfar muttered. “None seem to fit.”

“I can see why. I mean – not _see_ , I didn’t – see, anything, I just meant that – you – ”

“It’s alright,” Gwenhwyfar said, desperately trying to hold back a laugh.

One could only hope that he would fare better when the time came to face his actual betrothed in a state of undress. The poor woman was so looking forward to it, too.

Finally putting her hands on what she’d been looking for, Gwenhwyfar pulled it over her head then said, “You can turn around now.”

As if he didn’t quite take her at her word, Arthur first carefully glanced over his shoulder, just to make sure. He cocked his head. “Is that _my_ shirt?”

“Is that a problem?”

“It’s…fine.”

With such royal approval in mind, Gwenhwyfar went to put her belt in place and strap Excalibur to her back again. As she picked it up, she commented, “I hear you now wield its double in this world.”

“Did Merlin say that?”

“He could not wait to tell it.”

Arthur chuckled. He looked pleased with himself, too, and for once, Gwenhwyfar found one thing they understood each other on.

“It is a great gift,” she told him. “Use it wisely.”

He acknowledged her with a nod, before his eyes narrowed as if in thought. “Why do I have the feeling that I’ve somehow _finally_ earned your favor?”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

He laughed outright now, but he still seemed puzzled by something. “Can I ask – why is it, that out of everyone here, I am the only you do not treat as you do your own?”

“I…do not think that’s true.”

“It is,” Arthur insisted. “You hate my father because you did so in your world. On the other hand, Merlin, or even Elyan…you are as kind to them as you would be to yours. So, why not to me?”

Gwenhwyfar opened her mouth to deny it, but nothing came out. She wanted to say it was because they were not the same, because no likeness could change the fact that he and her Arthur were entirely different men.

Except he had a point.

Perhaps Guenevere was right and her time here had changed her, because Gwenhwyfar took a deep breath and admitted, “You’re right.”

Arthur could not look more shocked at hearing it.

“The truth is,” she said, “I am not as immune to these things as I’d like to think. I look at everyone here, and I see _mine_. But…it’s different, with you, with…” She let out a quiet sigh. “With _my_ Arthur.”

She looked at everyone else and saw the things they shared with hers. She looked at the man in front of her, and all she saw were the things that were different.

“Perhaps I do judge your faults more harshly than I would another’s,” she went on, deep in thought, “but that is because I cannot help but see them as all the ways in which you are different from the Arthur I know. Because to me, he alone is perfect.”

She realized what she had confessed to only a moment too late. By the looks of him, Arthur was not expecting it either.

Gwenhwyfar cleared her throat and hastily looked away, busying herself with securing her dagger to her belt to hide the fact that her face was getting hot.

As she silently prayed to the Goddess to open the ground and let it swallow her whole, Arthur said, “I understand.”

Her head snapped around to him. “What?”

He shrugged. “I feel the same way about Guinevere.”

“Right,” Gwenhwyfar muttered. Gathering some courage, she added, “Can I ask _you_ something?”

“If you like.”

“Would you still want her to be your queen if she weren’t? Perfect, I mean.”

The corner of Arthur’s mouth lifted into a soft smile. “Yes.”

“And if – ” she swallowed – “if it were the other way around, if _she_ had to decide what was best for Camelot, and she was perfect and you were not…would you still want her to choose _you?_ ”

This time, he faltered, no answer at the ready. At length, he only said, “I don’t know.”

The trouble was, neither did she.

Not that they were talking about _her._

She was just about to tell Arthur to forget that she had ever asked, when he spoke again, saying it like it was just the simplest thing in the world.

“All I know is, I would want her to be happy.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Her husband held up his lance in victory, getting a roar out of the crowd.

The people loved their king, Guenevere would give them that.

Arthur grinned atop his horse, then wider still when he met her eyes, where she sat high up in the stands. Guenevere smiled back. It was just like home.

Except she was dressed in another’s clothes, wore her hair another’s way, and her husband looked like another’s betrothed. That, and she sat waiting with fear prickling at the back of her mind that another’s enemy would come and cleave her head from her shoulders.

But otherwise, just like home.

If she held on to that, to Arthur’s eyes lighting up like a boy’s because he had impressed her with his skill, then she could feel less afraid.

“My lady.”

Guenevere nearly jumped out of her own skin, a scream dying in her throat.

_“Merlin,”_ she hissed out of the corner of her mouth. “What are you doing?”

“Just keeping an eye on things.” His voice, gravelly like that of the old man he was cursed to be, came from somewhere behind her.

Though he was nowhere to be seen by the naked eye, some rustling and a deep sigh indicated that he had come around to settle in the chair next to hers, which should have been left for the king’s uncle, but now sat empty – on account of all the unspeakable betrayal and such.

“Walking about like this is unwise,” Guenevere tried to speak without actually moving her lips. No easy feat.

“I’m invisible,” Merlin replied, quite unbothered.

“And if someone hears you?”

“There is a crazed, dead tyrant on the loose,” Merlin reasoned. “You cannot expect me to leave you unprotected.”

“You mean leave _Arthur_ unprotected?”

“Same difference.”

Guenevere stifled a chuckle.

“Even if I did not care a great deal about you, Guenevere, which I do,” Merlin went on, his tone gentler, “you are Arthur’s heart. Protecting him will always mean protecting you, too.”

“That’s very sweet of you, Merlin,” she said softly.

“It is only fact.”

He did love those.

Guenevere spared a moment to smile and clap for the new knight who had won his round, some young thing who looked like he was barely old enough to compete. The crowd cheered in kind.

“They do love their future queen, don’t they?” Merlin mused as the sounds winded down.

“You think so?”

“Look at them,” he said. “They’re so happy. So _many._ They cheer when you cheer. The knights practically fall all over themselves trying to impress you.” He clucked his tongue. “If your double does survive the day, she will be quite well-loved indeed.”

_Indeed,_ Guenevere thought to herself, casting her eyes over the stands. Every last spot was filled, every last man, woman and child wearing smiles on their faces and waving flags in the colors of Camelot. Gods only knew what Uther saw instead, when he looked at them, if he believed that Guinevere did not belong here.

“How is everything?”

“In place,” Merlin said. “I’ve enchanted the Horn. It should be enough to let Arthur’s double send his father back to the spirit world. Now, all that’s left to do is for him to use it.”

If she thought she detected a hint of doubt in his tone – likely in the man’s ability to actually carry out this endeavor –, Guenevere did not comment on it.

After a time, during which two new knights faced each other and one ended up in the dirt, Merlin spoke again. “So…I hear the king found his own Excalibur. Drew it out of a stone.”

He strived to sound nonchalant but he betrayed himself entirely. Guenevere would not indulge him, only replying, “I have heard the same.”

Merlin waited and waited for her to take his bait – and she did not – until he finally burst out, “Only his manservant saw!”

Guenevere ducked her head to hide her smile.

To no surprise, Arthur won the last joust of the tournament (Guenevere suspected that Merlin may have had a hand in that), emerging victorious. When he got off his horse and climbed onto the stands, to take her in his arms and give her a searing kiss, Guenevere thought that the people’s cheers would deafen her.

But that part, at least, was _exactly_ like home.

By the time they had rejoined the others within the palace, Merlin was once more visible to all, and Arthur’s beard and hair were back to their previous length. No one asked how.

No more than they asked how men who hadn’t slept in days could remain so alert. If Guenevere had to guess, it had something to do with Emrys’s famed wakefulness potion – whether it had been ingested willingly or slipped into a cup here and there.

They gathered in the royal chambers, come nightfall. The hilt of Excalibur shone in three different hands, Sir Leon stood silent watch, a frown of worry etched into his brow, and the Horn of Cathbhadh sat at the center of the table.

It was time.

 


End file.
